


Darker Days

by AmberRunnel



Series: darker days of the dream smp [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :), Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Suicide, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP but realistic, Dream Smp, Dream needs to die in a hole, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Needs A Hug, Except Dream, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Family Dynamics, Gen, Ghostbur, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Logstedshire, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Pandora's Vault, Panic Attacks, People die in this one, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Prison Arc, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Traitor Punz, Trigger Warning for Violence, Trigger warning for suicide, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Dream is his own warning, Violence, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), and get tortured, l'manberg, lotta violence, wouldn't call the ending happy but definitely satisfying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 48,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberRunnel/pseuds/AmberRunnel
Summary: Tommy stared down at the lava with tears trickling down his face, breathing stifled by the nether's searing heat. "Burn the discs for me, will you?" he said softly. "I don't want to come back.""And what about what you're leaving behind?" Dream pleaded. "Tubbo and L'Manberg and me—"“Tubbo doesn’t care about me anymore.”“I do,” Dream said, voice hushed. “I care about you, Tommy. I’ve never lied to you.”Tommy shook his head. “You know I can’t believe that.”A small click sounded.For the first time since Tommy had met him, Dream took off his mask.-It takes Tommy's exile for the SMP to start falling into its darker days.It also takes a prison, a nation not quite recovered from war, and a family who's seen far too much tragedy already.(The story of Dream's rise to power, as told by the puppet he made of the one person that could stop him.)-//TW for manipulation, violence, attempted suicide, abuseUpdates once a week
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: darker days of the dream smp [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039249
Comments: 382
Kudos: 1573





	1. Arrival

**_Arrival_ **

They travelled for three days before Dream finally stopped, and Tommy remembered nothing except hours of hours of haze-filled walking, numb with shock and cold. 

The forest-bordered plains biome, had it not been plagued with mobs and eerie in the darkness and half-light of the stars, could be a beautiful place to start a base from scratch. Tommy might have admired the sparse birch and oak forest, hills, and gleaming beach had he been there under kinder circumstances, but as of now, all he could think of was how much his back hurt from carrying his bag and how unbearably freezing he was under the pouring rain. 

Wilbur —Ghostbur— wasn’t affected by either the cold or the rain. In fact, he was grinning as he looked around and chimed, “Look at how pretty this place is!”

Tommy didn’t answer. He was too busy keeping an eye on Dream, who was shooting down mobs with scary accuracy. Once it was safe enough to stop, he turned to Tommy. “Don’t try to follow me back.”

“You’re just going to walk away?” Tommy said incredulously. “Just like that?”

“No,” Dream said evenly. “Give me your bag.”

Tommy stepped backward, clutching the strap of his bag tightly as he shivered. “The hell I am.” He wasn’t letting go of the few belongings he still had. Looking around for Ghostbur, he found too late that his only companion had wandered off in the rain, probably looking for flowers or some shit. 

Dream shook his head in what could have been disappointment. “Tommy.”

Tommy’s blood boiled. “Fuck you.” 

“Your bag.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “What are you gonna do?” he challenged, stepping right up in Dream’s face in a show of strength he didn't feel. “Kill me?”

What happened next, Tommy wasn’t sure. One second Dream was still, the next, Tommy was falling into the grass and mud. His vision blurred; the pain in his shoulder didn’t register for several seconds, and he let out a choked cough as his hand came away stained with blood.

He might have let out a string of curses had he not been struggling to breath through the cold. Although the cut across his shoulder wasn’t deep, it hurt like hell, and there was nothing more debilitating than to see his hands stained dark with red. Too disoriented to sit up, Tommy could do nothing but lie in the grass as Dream picked up his bag from where it’d fallen and pried his armor off of him.

He wasn’t disoriented enough, however, to miss the crackling of fire as Dream burned his belongings. Everything he had left—gone. And Tommy could do nothing but stare wordlessly up at Dream, whose expression was unreadable behind the mask.

“I’ll see you around,” Dream promised, and just like that he was gone. Tommy was left lying in the grass, staring up at the dark clouds and lightning. He would have crawled over to the campfire had it not already been snuffed out by the rain.

“Tommy?” Ghostbur said in concern from a distance away. “Tommy? Where are you?”

“Here,” Tommy croaked, struggling to push himself to a sitting position. The rain had washed away most of the blood on his shirt, so Ghostbur didn’t notice his injury. 

“What happened? Did you fall?”

“Dream, he—” Tommy tried to get to his feet, only to fall back down. Wilbur reached out to try and help, only for his hands to pass right through Tommy. 

Whether it was the cold, the shock, or his exhaustion that finally got to him, Tommy fell back down into the grass. His eyes closed, and a few seconds later he had blacked out.


	2. Questionable Intentions

**_Questionable Intentions_ **

When Tommy woke up, he wasn’t outside anymore. 

He groaned and sat up, head pounding and blinded by sunlight. He looked around to find himself in a small tent—a rain-stained white canvas stretched over stripped birch logs. It was only a few meters wide either way, and had nothing but a spare bed, crafting table, and storage chest.

Tommy dragged himself to his feet, pulling off the blanket someone had tossed over him during the night. It smelled like early morning and grass outside, but the sun was out in full and a persistent wind swept his hair back as he walked over to Ghostbur.

Ghostbur was passed out by the dying embers of a campfire, slumped over a log he’d no doubt used as a seat. Tommy tried to shake him awake without thinking, only for his hand to pass right through his dead brother’s shoulder.

Tommy shut his eyes tightly and took a second to collect himself. Not too long, because if he waited in the silence for a bit more his thoughts would come flooding back and he’d have a complete breakdown. “Ghostbur?” he called out loud.

Ghostbur stirred, blinking sleepily a few times before sitting up and yawning. “You’re awake!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Are you okay? Did you—”

“I’m fine.” Tommy gestured around. “Did—did you build all of this?”

Ghostbur nodded nonchalantly. “I didn’t want the mobs to get you.” He shrugged helplessly. “I would’ve moved you off the floor so you wouldn’t be cold, but,”—he held up his gray, translucent hands— “Didn’t work. So I just built the tent around you.”

Tommy nodded carefully. “Thanks.”

Ghostbur’s face lit up and he scurried back inside. “Your shoulder’s still wounded. Here.” He came back with a roll of bandages and a med kit, handing them to Tommy. Tommy’s hands closed around the items, going right through Ghostbur’s grip. “Where did you get these?”

“Dream came by earlier while you were still out! He gave me a book, too, so I could write!”

Tommy’s mouth went dry and he took a half-step back. “Dream came back?” he struggled to say.

Ghostbur frowned, as if not quite understanding Tommy’s reaction. “Yeah. Why are you…”

“Dream’s not a friend.”

“Why? I like Dream.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

Tommy sighed. He left Ghostbur by the fire, wandering into the woods to find a source of fresh water so he could clean the rest of the blood off his shoulder. It had mostly dried now, but he still needed to bandage the wound so it wouldn’t get infected.

It wasn’t long at all before he found a river, and soon, he was looking at his reflection in the swirling water. The second he locked eyes with himself, a horrible dread swept over him and he almost dropped the bandages into the water. 

_ I’m exiled. I can’t go home anymore. _

His knees buckled, and he fell into the grass by the river’s bank. Everything his shock had pushed down came rushing back at once: Dream snapping after Tommy threatened Spirit, talking with Tubbo, Quackity, and Fundy, Tubbo standing behind Dream on the obsidian walls of L’Manberg and staring at him dead in the eyes as Tommy was exiled. Days of traveling, the cold, Dream burning the few possessions he had left— 

Tommy couldn’t go home. If he did—

More memories flashed through his mind: getting captured in Eret’s control room, almost dying from the arrow he’d taken to the chest when he and Dream had dueled over L’Manberg, Dream slashing his shoulder and leaving him half-conscious on the ground—and Tommy was helpless now, entirely at the mercy of the one person he hated the most.

Tommy’s hand drifted to his shoulder.  _ What would I do, if our places were switched?  _ He still remembered the exhilaration that had flooded him when he’d rallied Quackity and Fundy to turn against Dream, when he’d flaunted Spirit in his face. Seeing Dream hesitate before taking down the walls as they all jeered and laughed, that had been the best feeling in the world. After so long spent on edge under Dream’s shadow, that freedom was intoxicating as anything. 

Dream was probably feeling that triumph now, and the thought made Tommy sick to his stomach. In such worse circumstances, too. Tommy was completely isolated out in the wilderness, with no one. Ghostbur didn’t count. 

_ Ghostbur makes everything worse too.  _ He just floated there as a constant reminder that their exile was only an echo of more hopeful days, that even the grim times he’d spent with Wilbur in Pogtopia were better than now.

Tommy exhaled, listening to the river until he calmed down enough to stand up. Once he’d fixed his shoulder and returned to the campsite, something had occurred to him.

Dream had stopped by this morning. That meant one of two things: either he’d set up a base nearby, or he had built a portal and travelled through the nether. The latter was the most likely and better option: if Tommy could find that portal, he might be able to get back home and talk to Tubbo. Not even to reason with him or change his mind, for as soon as Tommy stepped out of the woods and into the plains, his sheer distance from civilization suddenly dawned on him, accompanied by a crushing bout of loneliness.

However beautiful the sky was with its few puffy clouds, it was large enough to suffocate. Tommy almost fled back into the safe enclosure of the forest, but Ghostbur waved at him from their campsite. 

The ghost yelled something across the distance between them, but Tommy couldn’t make it out through the rustling of long grass and the buzz of the ocean. 

“I got us some iron!” Ghostbur finally managed to say. “There’s a cave,”—he pointed—“there.”

Tommy nodded blankly, holding his hands out for the pickaxe. “I’ll keep mining. You get us some food. There isn’t enough to go around yet.”

“I don’t need food,” Ghostbur said brightly. “Take it. I’ll start a farm or something.”

Tommy sighed and trudged off. 

The sun was low on the horizon and sky darkening when Dream returned.

By then, Tommy had already crafted iron armor for himself, to survive the caves and mobs. So despite the deep-rooted fear when he saw Dream’s silhouette standing still by his campsite, the sword in his hand inspired enough confidence to approach.

“Tommy,” Dream acknowledged, the axe strapped across his back glinting in the light as he turned. His mask’s eyes were as empty as ever, and the netherite armor and sword in his hand didn’t exactly reassure Tommy that Dream had come with good intentions.

“Where’s Ghostbur?” Tommy answered flatly, looking hatefully up at him as his grip tightened around the handle of his sword.

Dream shrugged carelessly, gesturing at the tent. “Probably wandered away. Take your armor off.”

Tommy took a step back, holding his sword a little higher. “I earned this myself. You can’t just—”

Dream shook his head in disappointment. “Tommy.”

“Fuck you.” Even with the venom in his words. Tommy was stepping back as Dream walked forward calmly. 

“Tommy, don’t make this difficult.” 

The sun dipped under the horizon, and Tommy struck. It was a desperate strike, so clumsy that Dream merely stepped out of the way before drawing his weapon to counter the second blow. Suddenly they were both facing each other, swords drawn with intents that could not be more alike.

_ Hurt him.  _

__ Tommy steeled himself, and Techno’s instructions rang in his head again.  _ Watch for tells. Keep your eye on your opponent. Use your surroundings. Keep track of all weapons.  _

_ Go into the fight believing you will win.  _

__ Dream tossed his shield aside with that same deliberate disappointment, as if Tommy had let him down by fighting back. There was no warning or tell before metal flashed in the air and Tommy blocked blindly, arms strained from the force of Dream’s strike. He leapt away, but it was a futile attempt at disengaging. Not a second later, his sword clattered out of his hands and fell into the grass below. 

Dream had Tommy’s arm in a vice grip before he could try and run, and a forearm around his throat before he could yell out. Tommy kept struggling against his hold until he felt the cold blade of a dagger pressed against his neck. “Don’t,” Dream warned, voice low. Tommy could only flinch as Dream’s fingers dug into his side, undoing the straps of his armor and tossing it aside.

Tommy’s mistake was a last-ditch attempt to escape, one he knew would fail but couldn’t stop himself from trying anyway. He gathered his strength and shoved the dagger away, ducking under Dream’s arm. Instead of resisting like Tommy expected, Dream merely pushed him forward and set him sprawling into the grass. Before Tommy could crawl to his feet, Dream flipped his sword into his other hand and slashed Tommy’s shoulder again, cutting clean through the bandages. 

Tommy stopped moving entirely, eyes watering with pain as he slumped down against the ground. Blood soaked through his shirt, warm against the cold wind biting through the prairie. Fire crackled as Dream burned his armor, orange and yellow light dancing across Tommy’s vision as he stared up at the stars.

Not long later, and Dream was standing beside him. He extended a hand so Tommy could pull himself to his feet, voice as friendly as if nothing had happened. “You good to walk back to the tent?”

Afraid of upsetting him further, Tommy nodded without a sound. A crushing sense of defeat stole each breath he tried to take, and he’d barely calmed down by the time he’d sat down on the floor of his tent. 

Eyes shut, he only heard Dream digging through his bag. He wasn’t expecting Dream to kneel beside him with medical supplies. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Tommy spat. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dream admonished. “I’m not going to hurt you, and that wound’s going to get infected if you don’t let me treat it.”

Tommy said nothing.

Dream sighed and pressed the bandages and medical supplies into Tommy’s hands. “Fine. Do it yourself.” Tommy felt a fleeting guilt pass him at Dream’s disappointed tone, but it vanished immediately.  _ He hurt you. You don’t owe him anything.  _

Yet even after Tommy had finished treating his wound (somewhat clumsily) Dream was still sitting at the campfire with Ghostbur. Ghostbur had a delighted look on his face as Dream listened to him babble on, no doubt unused to having anyone actually listen to his directionless words.

Tommy cut into the conversation immediately. “What are you doing here?”

Dream shrugged, somewhat taken aback. “I figured you’d want the company.”

That was not the answer Tommy expected. 

“I’m company,” Ghostbur protested. 

“You’re dead,” Tommy said flatly. 

“Don’t you prefer me dead anyway?” Ghostbur asked innocently.

Tommy should in fact prefer him dead, but deep down he knew he’d trade Ghostbur’s company for Wilbur’s any day. Despite all the things Wilbur had done, Tommy still missed him so much it hurt. In the light of his exile, he’d even prefer to go back to their time in the ravine of Pogtopia. Ghostbur’s innocent, child-like ignorance didn’t allow for the same conversations, reflective or humorous, that he and Wilbur had shared so often in their loneliness.

Not to mention, Tommy had passed out against Wilbur’s shoulder any time he got too cold, and Wilbur had let him. Ghostbur couldn’t so much as tap his shoulder, and much of the time he was nothing more than a disembodied voice wandering off into the forest. 

It’d only been a day, and Tommy was  _ lonely.  _

But he’d never willingly accept Dream’s company. Not when all of this was his fault.

“I don’t want you here,” Tommy snapped.

Dream shook his head as if Tommy was being unreasonable, and Tommy hated that he couldn’t see the look on his face through the mask. “I’ll leave if you want me to,” he offered.

Ghostbur looked at Tommy pleadingly, and a flare of anger ran through Tommy.  _ Dream just burned my armor and hurt me and Ghostbur doesn’t even care. _

“Fine,” Tommy snapped, turning away to stalk back to his tent. “Keep talking with  _ Dream. _ ” He didn’t stick around to hear Ghostbur’s protest, close to tears as he left the campfire and sat in the silence of his tent. His shoulder was aching and stomach hurting, as he hadn’t eaten in so long.

Tommy laid down on his bed, staring up at the blank canvas of the tent and thinking. His anger vanished soon, to be replaced by a wave of grief that robbed him of breath.

_ Everything’s gone.  _ He’d lost his place in L’Manberg, he’d lost his best friend, he’d lost his home. Tommy had sacrificed so much, but Techno had been right.

_ “And you know what they did to Theseus, Tommy, after he saved the city? They exiled him. He died in disgrace.” _

Heroes didn’t get happy endings. Maybe this would be his, condemned to rot away in the wilderness as his worst enemy watched and as his best friend was responsible.

_ This is Dream’s fault, not Tubbo’s,  _ Tommy told himself, but the conviction he wanted to feel had faded long ago.


	3. Fault

**_Fault_ **

Tommy was not an easy person to break. But the third day Dream came to take his armor and weapons, he could feel himself cracking, just a little.

He didn’t argue with Dream anymore, not over the armor. He couldn’t change it, and his pride wasn’t worth the hurt anyway. Dream was always kinder when he didn’t resist, and each time he stayed to keep Tommy company, Tommy felt less and less compelled to push him away.

“You almost got enough obsidian?” Dream asked him as Tommy was sorting his storage system. Tommy was working to create a portal so his friends could come visit, but it was a slow process. 

He frowned in the direction of the half-finished portal by the path to his campsite. “No. I’ve got no patience for that shit. I’m a few short.”

“I have obsidian to spare, if you want it.”

Tommy looked up, startled. “Really?”

“Of course.” Dream got to his feet. “You’ll need my help finding the L’Manberg nether hub too. It isn’t exactly safe without armor.”

Tommy grumbled under his breath: “Whose fault is that?”

He hadn’t intended for Dream to hear, so his hasty apology to Dream’s unamused look was nothing short of clumsy. Dream waved it off, but Tommy felt guilty nonetheless.

Dream watched carefully as Tommy finished the portal, and Tommy was unsuccessful in hiding the pain in his shoulder as he worked. The wound stung like hell with a sharper pain than should be normal, and the third time he winced, Dream said: “Your shoulder is still hurt.”

“Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

“Come back to the tent and let me look at it. I’m not letting you into the nether if you’re already injured.”

Tommy thought about protesting. 

He didn’t. 

“As I thought,” Dream chided in a mixture of annoyance and anger. “Wound’s infected.”

“And whose fault is that?” Tommy muttered, sitting cross-legged on his bed as Dream brought out his medical kit again.

Dream gave an agreeable hum, unwrapping the bandages and ignoring that Tommy flinched every time Dream touched him. “Whose fault is it, Tommy?”

“You’re the one who slashed me.”

“I’m also the one who gave you all the things needed to treat it properly and tried to help you myself; you didn’t let me and proceeded to do everything wrong yourself. Whose fault is it, Tommy?”

Tommy glowered, and it was only out of apprehension that he didn’t stay silent. “Mine,” he admitted, voice barely audible. 

“Good,” Dream said approvingly, pressing a healing potion into his hands. “Drink this.”

Tommy did, feeling worse and worse with himself as he swallowed the sickly sweet potion. Not because he was hurt, but because he knew Dream was right.

“It’ll take a few days,” Dream said. “We could be in the nether already, but you couldn’t accept my help. I hope you’ve at least learned, now.”

“I have,” Tommy grumbled, knowing it was what Dream wanted to hear. 

“Tommy, I have a gift for you!” Ghostbur exclaimed, darting into the tent with his hand behind his back.

Tommy looked up from where he’d been sitting on the floor, talking to Dream. “Really?”

“Yeah! I noticed that you were feeling down lately, so I thought, what would make Tommy happy?”

_ Good question, actually. _

Ghostbur held something small and metallic to Tommy: a compass, glimmering purple with enchantments and with the words  _ Your Tubbo  _ etched in fine print on the top.

“It’s a compass!” Ghostbur said brightly as Tommy looked down at it numbly. “It’ll always point to Tubbo no matter where you are, so you’ll always be able to find him. He has one too that points to you!”

_ My Tubbo. _

“I—” Tommy tried to say. He looked up at the ghost of his dead brother silently, trying to convey what he never knew how to say out loud. He held the compass close, suddenly deathly afraid something would happen to it.

“Here,” Dream said, holding his hand out for it. Tommy gave him a pleading look, only for Dream to say, “Trust me.”

Tommy handed over the compass, heart in his throat. Dream only took some string out of his bag and strung it through a small hook on the top of the compass, intent clear. Tommy didn’t protest when Dream carefully tied the two ends around Tommy’s neck so that the compass hung like a necklace, it’s weight reassuring on Tommy’s chest. “That way you won’t lose it,” Dream assured him. 

Tommy nodded wordlessly, looking down at the needle. It didn’t waver, pointing straight to the sea in the direction of L’Manberg. “Thanks,” he managed to say, voice unsteady.

_ Tubbo will find me soon.  _

They had a way back to each other again.


	4. Two Liars

**_Two Liars_ **

Tommy thought about Tubbo a lot. 

Mostly their last interactions: Tubbo watching warily as Tommy rallied the L’Manbergians around their power from Spirit, facing Dream with Tommy by his side, facing Tommy with  _ Dream  _ at his side—“You’re right, this wouldn’t have happened if you were president and it was me under the threat of exile. Because I would have actually listened to you, and shown some respect while I was at it!”

Tommy used to remember Tubbo’s voice so well he could hear it when he thought about him. But as the days stretched into a week and then two, it grew harder and harder—as if Tubbo was getting farther and farther away from him by the second.

_ I don’t want to lose his voice.  _

But the only things he remembered clearly now were, 

“Tommy, I am so, so sorry. But I’ve made my decision.”

“—best for this nation—”

“—the most logical thing to do—

“—you guys are thinking emotionally, irrationally—”

“—the discs don’t matter, Tommy! How can you not see that?”

And the clearest thing, the  _ last  _ words he’d heard his friend say:

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

Tommy spent countless hours sitting in front of his unfinished portal, staring at his compass when Dream wasn’t around. Only when he knew he was alone, as he didn’t want Dream to know how much his exile was hurting him. It wasn’t even a matter of trust as it was the feeling that Dream had done too much for him already, given their circumstances. Dream was supposed to be his enemy, yet he was spending so much time helping him: keeping Tommy company, bringing him resources and actual food rations, helping him build his campsite and make somewhat of a life in Logstedshire. 

And everyone else? Tommy hadn’t seen them since his banishment. Dream made it clear he’d told Tubbo that anyone who wanted to visit Tommy could; Dream wasn’t his captor, for fuck’s sake, and he’d been on good terms with L’Manberg once the walls were taken down. So why was Tommy only ever followed by Dream, Ghostbur, and silence?

Upon asking Dream, the answer he got was: “Tubbo knows to come to me if anyone wants to visit you. No one has.”

“Maybe they’re just scared of you,” Tommy joked.

Dream nodded, voice amused. “Perhaps.” In a more serious tone: “Tubbo has his compass. Even if I wasn’t around, he could find you if he wanted to.”

The unspoken words were clear enough to both of them, but Tommy believed them just enough to say them out loud. “Maybe he doesn’t want to.”

Dream said nothing, which was confirmation enough. 

Unbeknownst to Tommy, though, he was smiling behind his mask. 

Tommy stared at the mesmerizing purple swirls of the completed nether portal, almost afraid to step through. Despite the comforting weight of the iron armor Dream had allowed him to keep, he still couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping onto dangerous ground. 

The nether’s heat washed over him as soon as he went through, robbing him of breath for several seconds before he adjusted. They’d spawned on solid ground, and the netherrack felt solid enough beneath his feet so that he could stare at the bubbling lava calmly. 

“It’s about half an hour to the main nether hub,” Dream told him. “Building a bridge won’t be easy.”

“I can do it,” Tommy said in determination, staring at his compass. “I just need to build to Tubbo, that’s all.”

It took them days of working together to reach the nether hub, Dream providing resources and safety from ghasts as Tommy worked. Even though Tommy passed out from exhaustion and injuries every night, he wasn’t unhappy—his conversations with Dream were entertaining enough, and he even felt proud every time he made Dream laugh to the point of wheezing. 

Tommy didn’t hate him anymore. Not when Dream was the only one to have taken care of him. 

“You know, I should hold a party or something,” he commented to Dream. “Could I?”

“Of course,” Dream told him. 

“All my friends can visit me and we can have fun like old times. I could build something by the beach and everything.” Tommy grinned at the thought.

“Am I invited?” Dream asked innocuously. 

Tommy drew back, startled. “Well—yeah, of course. You’re my friend.”

Dream shrugged. “Just checking. I’d understand if you don’t want me there.”

“No, no,” Tommy insisted. “I do. That way we can invite people from the Dream SMP lands too, not just L’Manberg.” He wiped his forehead, out of breath. He’d been working almost the entire day and the hub still seemed so far away, but he couldn’t let up. So he kept working, even after he grew dizzy with exhaustion. 

The heat was insufferable, and he’d run out of water an hour ago. He hadn’t let Dream know—lied, even—unwilling to waste the time going back. 

The first time he stumbled, Dream said nothing. The second time, he got a: “careful.” The third time, Dream took Tommy’s water bottle from his bag to find it empty and grabbed Tommy’s wrist. “You’re out of water.”

“Yeah.”

“I asked you about it ten minutes ago, and you haven’t taken it out since then. You lied to me.”

Tommy didn’t look at him.

Dream’s voice dropped dangerously. “You know I don’t like it when you lie to me, Tommy.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered. “It’s just I—” He had to stop to breathe heavily, the nether air searing his lungs.

“We’re going back,” Dream said flatly. 

“I’m fine,” Tommy said, yanking his arm from Dream’s grasp. 

“You’re not.”

“Why do you fucking care anyway?” Tommy insisted, voice faltering. Misery was sweeping over him again, because it wasn’t a jibe but an honest question. Dream shouldn’t care—nobody cared. Not even Tubbo, who had abandoned him. 

“You’re my friend,” Dream said. “Of course I care.”

_ Two liars having a conversation,  _ Tommy thought to himself, but guilt flooded him immediately.  _ Dream’s not a liar. I’m the one who didn’t tell him the truth.  _

He dropped his pickaxe and followed Dream without a word, but the words rang in his head anyways. 

_ Two liars. Two liars. Two liars. _

No sooner had they stepped out of the portal did Dream take a pickaxe to its frame, shattering it in a few seconds’ work.

Tommy gaped at him. “Why would you do that?” he demanded, springing forward to wave his hand through the empty air where the portal had been. 

“You’re not going back there yet,” Dream said, voice uncompromising. “You shouldn’t have lied to me, Tommy. If I can’t trust you to listen to me, then I have to do things the hard way.”

“I can’t go back?” Tommy echoed, mouth dry. “For how long?”

“Just a few days.”

Dismay settled at the bottom of Tommy’s stomach, and his misery returned. “Please, Dream,” he begged. “I can’t wait that long.”

“You’re going to have to.”

No amount of pleading would change his mind.

Tommy didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t get that bridge out of his head—he couldn’t get home out of his head, even if he knew finishing the bridge wouldn’t allow him to go back. But his friends would be able to come see him. He’d finally have some lasting reprieve from the crushing silence that followed when Dream and Ghostbur weren’t around. 

He rolled around in his bed, unable to even keep his eyes closed. A thought occurred to him, and he sat up. 

A diamond pickaxe was currently sitting in his chest, along with some flint and steel. If he went down to his mine and got a spare piece of obsidian, he could fix the portal. As long as he was back before sunrise and broke the portal behind him, Dream would never know.

“I don’t need sleep anyway,” Tommy muttered to himself, heart racing as he darted to his feet. Deep down, he knew it was a terrible thing to do. He’d have to lie to Dream again, which always made him feel like shit, and adding sleep deprivation to his list of health problems wasn’t a good idea in any circumstance. 

_ It doesn’t matter. The sooner I can see Tubbo again, the better.  _

He even got away with it the first night.

The second, however, went quite differently. Tommy got his spare piece of obsidian from the chest, along with building blocks, water, armor, and a pickaxe, and went through the portal.

Dream was waiting for him on the other side, sword in hand and his mask’s empty eyes staring straight through him.

Tommy froze, a deer in headlights as words failed him and a paralyzing terror rooted him to the spot. Dream didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Tommy was certain that he would just kill him right then and there. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered almost imperceptibly, falling back against the portal’s frame. “I didn’t— I’m sorry—” 

Dream took several deliberate steps forward, took Tommy’s arm, and struck him across the face.

Pain exploded along Tommy’s jaw as his knees gave out, eyes watering and breath heavy in his chest. Dream hit him twice more before he could recover; once across his eye, once to the back of his head to send him slumping to the ground. Each time, Tommy didn’t make a sound; he took it silently, without arguing, because he knew that deserved it.

“Get up.”

Tommy did. When they stepped back into the cold wind and dark sky of the overworld, he handed Dream his pickaxe and armor before being asked. In the time it took Dream to burn it, Tommy had already fled back to his tent.

He tried to sleep then, and pretended for all he was worth that he had passed out immediately. It didn’t fool Dream when he came to check up on him, for Dream put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Don’t ever fucking lie to me again.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy pleaded, and he meant it.

Dream was gone the next day. 

The rest of the portal had been taken down, as were any tools that could be used to rebuild it. Tommy wouldn’t dare try, but the message was clear:  _ no trust.  _

The silence was the worst part. Only in Dream’s absence did Tommy realize how much he’d grown dependent on his friend’s company. The three hours he spent wandering around yelling for Ghostbur saw him talking to himself along the way, just to hear something.

He eventually found Ghostbur wandering around in the forest, collecting blue flowers and waving at birds. “Tommy!” he said, delighted, before his smile dropped. “What happened to you?”

“What?” Tommy said, distracted. 

“Your eye,” he exclaimed. “It’s purple.”

Tommy’s hands went to his face absent-mindedly. His eye and jaw hurt like hell, but he didn’t exactly have a mirror to see how visible the damage was. Still, Ghostbur’s shock surprised him. But he had Wilbur’s face, after all, and Wilbur had grown violent just like Dream after they’d lost L’Manberg. “So what?”

“What happened?” Ghostbur asked, dropping his flower.

“I—” Tommy was at a loss for words. “I lied to Dream and he got angry. I deserved it.”  _ Just like when I lied to Wilbur.  _

Something that could have been actual  _ anger  _ flitted across the ghost’s face. “But that doesn’t mean—” he started, before shutting his eyes tightly and clutching at his head as if something was hurting him. “Never mind. Wanna see if we can find a village or something? I really want to find a cat.”

“Sure,” Tommy said numbly, trailing after his friend. “A cat.”

_ Better hope he doesn’t keep it in the campsite,  _ Tommy thought humorlessly to himself.  _ Or Dream would probably throw it in the fire, too. _

Despite his bitterness, when Dream finally came back two days later, Tommy had never been happier to see him. 


	5. Silence

**_Silence_ **

It was a full two weeks before Tommy reached the nether hub. 

To stand there, so close to home after so long, should have been euphoric. It should have been hopeful—Tommy had a way back, his friends were right there, he would be able to talk to them soon. 

_ Tubbo—  _

Tommy held his compass in his hands and started crying instead. Home was right there, and he would never be able to go back.

He stepped right up to the edge of the portal, ignoring Dream’s warning look. One step forward, and he could see L’Manberg.  One step forward, and he’d be dead before he even left the portal’s spawn.

_ Is it worth it?  _ Tommy asked himself, and it was a chilling question to ask. The answer should be a definite  _ no,  _ but Tommy’s  _ no  _ was not nearly definite enough.

“Can I go through?” Tommy pleaded, only for Dream to shake his head sadly.

“You’re exiled, Tommy,” Dream said gently. “Maybe one day, if Tubbo and I feel like you’ve changed.”

“If I go through,” Tommy said slowly, trying to convince himself not to, “You’ll kill me?”

“I will.”

There was no doubt in Dream’s voice, yet still—

“Do you need me to convince you I’m telling the truth?” Dream asked quietly.

Tommy sighed, placing his hand right against the glowing purple of the portal. It was answer enough, for the distinct  _ chink  _ of Dream unsheathing one of his daggers scared him into stepping back. Nevertheless, Tommy did not tear his eyes from the portal until Dream took his arm and tugged him away. 

_ Some day.  _

Tommy didn’t want to go back to the crushing silence of Logstedshire, even if Dream stayed with him. He darted towards the beach the second they stepped through the portal, determined to get his friends to visit him. 

A party should do. Dream had already given Tommy permission, after all, and there was no better way to bring people together. Sure, Tommy wasn’t the most amicable of people, but he had friends and allies that would bear his presence. He was exiled, after all, and owed an exception. Especially from Tubbo. 

Tommy took days to prepare, setting up an area by the beach and cleaning up Logstedshire. Ghostbur had gotten him food from Niki’s bakery and delivered the invites; there was nothing to do but wait.

“I’ll even talk to Tubbo personally,” Dream assured Tommy after finding him pacing around, hands latched over his head in anxiety. “Ghostbur left invites by everyone’s doors, so everyone will see them.”

Tommy could only nod. 

He didn’t sleep much the night before, choosing instead to stay up to talk with Dream. At least he could be certain that Dream could bear his presence, even if his friends didn’t. 

_ I owe him a lot now, don’t I?  _ Tommy realized.  _ What would have happened to me without him?  _ Tommy didn’t fare well without company, without people to talk to and interact with. He hated the silence with a passion; it kept him up at night constantly. And Dream...Dream was the only person who helped him.

_ No, he’s not,  _ Tommy reminded himself.  _ The party will encourage people to visit me. They’ll have no excuse after they’ve found Logstedshire. _

But the morning saw Tommy standing in the sand alone, cold ocean water seeping over his feet as he listened to the silence and watched the nether portal remain inactive. The higher the sun rose in the sky, the deeper his feet were buried in the sand, the more crushing the realization became. 

No one came. Not a single person. 

Even Ghostbur.

Tommy might have never left that beach if Dream hadn’t urged him to. He would have stood there until he’d frozen to death at night or gotten shot by mobs. He would have stood there until he was buried in the sand. He would have died there, had Dream not put a gloved hand on his shoulder and said, ever so quietly, “Let’s go back to the tent.”

Tommy followed him because he had nothing else to do.

“I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?” Tommy was lying on his bed in the cold, staring up at the white canvas of the tent.

Dream was sitting cross-legged on the floor, helmet and gloves off. “Of course not.”

“I think I am. People would be here if I wasn’t.”

Dream sighed, and there was real exhaustion in his voice when he said, “Look, Tommy—I wish I could tell you that Ghostbur screwed up the invites, but I checked myself. But this isn’t your fault.”

Tommy shut his eyes, throat tight.  _ Don’t cry now. Not here.  _ “I should have listened to Tubbo, shouldn’t I? I’m a fucking awful person.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you were.”

Tommy didn’t reply.

“You’re not the problem, Tommy,” Dream said gently, leaning forward. “You’ve already sacrificed so much for your friends—Tubbo just wasn’t willing to do the same for you. You gave up your  _ discs  _ so L’Manberg could remain free, but I guess Techno was right in warning that they’d toss you aside.”

“Why are  _ you  _ here, then?” Tommy said numbly. “You hate me.”

Dream shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t hate you. Not anymore, at least.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” Tommy asked him. “I can’t stay in exile forever, I…” —he paused, and the words hurt to say— “I won’t survive it.”

“This isn’t for forever,” Dream promised. “I’ll let you visit L’Manberg on Christmas. Maybe then we can start to repair things.”

Tommy nodded, a little of the grief heavy in his chest dissipating. They sat together in the silence for a while, a silence that would have once been hostile but was only sad now.

“Can you stay here tonight?” Tommy asked hesitantly, unsure with how Dream would take it. “I can’t sleep when it’s quiet, like I’m suffocating.”

Dream said nothing for a little bit, but his voice was kind when he answered: “Of course.”

Tommy exhaled, letting his thoughts go the best he could as he held his compass tightly. “Thanks,” he whispered.

He heard Dream stand up behind him and get something from his bag. A few seconds later, the haunting notes of a music disc were floating in air empty of wind and sound. Tommy didn’t recognize the song, but it was beautiful—beautiful enough to soothe him into curling up in his bed and closing his eyes.

Sleep had almost claimed Tommy when Dream sat down beside him. Half-conscious as he was when Dream started stroking his hair absent-mindedly, Tommy could only remember Wilbur and Pogtopia.

It wasn’t the first time Tommy dreamt of his dead brother. Ever since Wilbur had died, Tommy saw him all the time when he slept. It was happy, sometimes, all conversations that made no sense in places where the conflict that had driven Wilbur to madness didn’t exist. Tommy missed those times before the wars, before the SMP had slipped into its darker days. Because when he didn’t dream of kinder places, he’d find himself in Pogtopia with his brothers again; one who’d almost murdered Tommy’s best friend, and one who was ready to destroy everything they had built on the grounds that they’d never get it back.

And despite the pain of remembering Wilbur destroying their home, hurting him, dying by his own father’s hand, Tommy knew Wilbur had been right in the end.

L’Manberg was gone. Tubbo had tried to build it back up, but the ideals that had created their nation had been kicked into the dust by war. Values like freedom and nonviolence didn’t fare well in battles dictated by whose blood was spilled instead of whose words mattered most, and they’d all paid the price for it. 

_ “Things will never be like they were before,”  _ Wilbur had told him before he died.  _ “But that’s war. Nobody recovers from it.” _

And nobody had.


	6. Ghosts on the Shore

**_Ghosts on the Shore_ **

The closer it got to Christmas, each night grew colder and colder than the last.

Tommy could bear it for a while, even if his tent barely helped to keep the warmth in. Ghostbur, who was of course concerned, built a house within the wooden walls of Logstedshire the second he caught wind of it. Tommy didn’t use the house, though, only transferring his furnaces and storage chests there to appease the ghost. Living in an actual house brought him one step closer to accepting Logstedshire as home, which Tommy had resolved never to do.

His days since the party had consisted mostly of exploring the overworld and nether with Dream, rambling about whatever came to mind as Dream listened and laughed along. But it was only so long before Tommy grew bored of his exile, venturing into the nether to shoot ghasts and hoglins for fun. 

“Try not to use all my arrows,” Dream commented wryly as Tommy towered up a few blocks and drew his bow. Tommy grinned, jumping off his tower and aiming for the ghast as he spun in the air.

He missed. 

“You’re more likely to hit me than anything else,” Dream teased. “Could you even hit it without the unnecessary acrobatics?”

Tommy glared. “Of course.”

Dream waited expectantly. 

Tommy, who hadn’t been expecting Dream to hold him true to his word, took careful aim at the ghast. Dream started shaking his head in exasperation before Tommy even released his arrow, and looked not at all surprised when Tommy missed.

“What?” Tommy demanded.

“Your form is shit,” Dream laughed, taking the bow from his hands as the ghast flew away.

“Let’s see you do better,” Tommy grumbled. “Oooh look at me I can shoot well I’m so amazing at everything—” 

Dream rolled his eyes, took an arrow from his quiver, and took down the ghast in one shot as he started wheezing. Infectious as his laughter was, Tommy couldn’t help but start grinning as well.

When Dream had calmed down, he asked, “Do you want me to teach you?”

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t really need to be good at archery, do I?”

“No?” Dream asked. “Because if I remember correctly, you lost your discs to me when we dueled.”

“I lost L’Manberg,” Tommy corrected, but the reminder had dampened his mood. “I gave you my discs willingly.”

“Which was incredibly selfless of you,” Dream said, and Tommy didn’t find any trace of humor in his voice to suggest he wasn’t being serious. Tommy wasn’t used to genuine compliments, especially from his friends, so he didn’t know how to respond for a little bit.

Dream sensed his cluelessness and slung his bow over his shoulder. “Let’s go back to Logstedshire,” he offered. “I’ll teach you to shoot.”

Tommy nodded and followed his friend wordlessly.

If Tommy had to choose between Dream and Techno, he’d say Dream was the better teacher. 

Tommy hadn’t trained with Techno in a while now, but he remembered their sessions quite clearly. Techno was as ruthless as Dream was patient, but struck with a certain reluctance; as if had it not been Philza’s request, Techno wouldn’t never even have tried to put up with Tommy’s brashness. Still, Tommy had learned a lot from his oldest brother. 

Even though exile had beaten Tommy’s stubbornness out of him somewhat, Dream was much more tolerant of it than Techno had been. Reluctant to let Dream down, Tommy tried his best to listen to his guidance—and refrain from mocking Dream about Techno having beaten him—so by the time the sun fell, he was hitting the center of the makeshift wooden target almost every time. 

“You’re making much more progress than I expected,” Dream said, sounding impressed. “Maybe I should teach you to actually use a sword properly tomorrow, too. That way you can beat up Sapnap next time he tries murdering everybody’s pets.”

Tommy’s face lit up. “I’d love that. He kicked my ass last time we fought.”

“Not surprised,” Dream commented wryly, retrieving all the arrows stuck in the target to dump them back into his quiver. Upon seeing Tommy’s pissed look, he burst out laughing. 

The next day saw Dream tossing two practice swords into the grass as Tommy was eating lunch. For the first time since Tommy had met him, he wasn’t wearing armor. It was strange to see him in just his normal clothes, mask, and green sweater, but Tommy didn’t comment on it.

“Techno’s trained you, hasn’t he?” Dream asked.

Tommy nodded. “It’s been awhile,” he admitted, picking up one of the practice swords and shifting into a defensive stance. Dream tossed his sword from hand to hand, and they started sparring. 

Tommy fared considerably well, at least when he stayed calm. But Dream identified pretty quickly that Tommy lost his cool quite a bit—and fumbled when he did.

“You’re too easily pissed off, that’s your problem,” Dream told him. It was late in the afternoon by then, and the sky was darkening. Tommy’s hands and arms hurt a shit ton, but he kept his complaints to himself. 

“I’ve handled it well so far,” Tommy snapped, somewhat irritable. They’d been taking a break and Tommy had been left alone with his thoughts for too long. He’d drifted to Tubbo, to Wilbur, to losing his home and his friends and Dream hitting him for lying— 

Tommy was itching to  _ hurt  _ something. 

“I haven’t exactly been trying to provoke you,” Dream said flatly. “Hence why you’ve been holding your own.”

“Do it, then,” Tommy said carelessly, sneering. “Piss me off.”

Dream’s head tilted slightly, but he only picked up his sword again. They sparred again, and he could no doubt feel the anger behind every one of Tommy’s strikes.

Tommy gave it his all, he really did. Dream, however, only needed thirty seconds to send him tumbling into the dirt. 

“Again.”

Tommy gritted his teeth, picked up his sword, and swung blindly. The weapon clattered out of his hands.

“Again.”

Tommy tried for all he was worth, only to get nicked across the arm. The cut was barely deep enough to draw blood, but it made Tommy flinch nonetheless.

“You’re proving my point,” Dream said viciously, kicking Tommy’s sword away as he tried to grab it. “You’re too emotional. All it takes is one little thing to distract you.”

_ Don’t prove him right.  _

Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoving his anger down. He walked perfectly calmly over to his sword and picked it up, shifting back into his defensive stance and allowing Dream to attack first. Their fight lasted longer then, long enough so that Tommy jibed, “See? I can keep my cool.”

“You can keep your cool because I’m not trying,” Dream said flatly. He grabbed Tommy’s wrist midswing and twisted his sword out of his hand, trapping him in place. “All I need to do is bring up Tubbo,” he hissed, “and how he’s  _ abandoned  _ you—”

Tommy kicked Dream’s leg without thinking and yanked his sword from his grasp. Dream was only weaponless for a moment before drawing his daggers. They circled each other; Tommy seething, Dream laughing at him for it. “Even Ghostbur’s gone, now. How far have you fallen to have  _ me  _ as your only friend?” 

“They haven’t left me,” Tommy shot back. “Tubbo’s my friend.”

“Where has he been, then?” Dream mocked. “Wilbur had good intentions with the compass, I’m sure, but it’s proof nobody cares anymore, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Tommy growled, knuckles white around the hilt of Dream’s sword.

Dream shook his head. “It’s been a month. An entire month.”

Tommy surged forward, only for Dream to parry with ease. “You think I haven’t seen you sitting for hours in front of your portal, staring at that compass?” Dream continued.

“Shut up—” Tommy said again, more desperately. “Tubbo hasn’t—”

“You’re better at lying to yourself than you are to me,” Dream said dismissively. Tommy swung, blocked, dodged— and ended up sprawled in the grass, Dream’s foot on his hand to stop him from getting up. “Admit it,” Dream said. “He’s not coming.”

“He is,” Tommy said, voice cracking. “I know I’d never leave him behind, he’d never leave me.”

“So where has he been?” Dream asked. 

Tommy didn’t answer, eyes shut tightly as his frustration built. There was no answer for him to give, but accepting the alternative was out of the question.

_ I hate you,  _ he thought, and meant it entirely.  _ I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—  _

Dream shook his head in disappointment, dropped his sword by Tommy’s side, and walked away.

Tommy’s compass was heavy on his chest, and every muscle in his body was tensed.  _ Hurt him, hurt him, hurt him— _ the urge built and built, memories flooding back and drowning him. Dream blowing up the original L'Manberg and the drug van, Dream ambushing him in Eret's control room, Dream shooting him in the chest during their duel for L'Manberg, Dream giving Wilbur tnt, Dream building obsidian walls outside L'Manberg, Dream hurting him, Dream, Dream, _Dream-_

Tommy snapped completely, yanking his sword out of the ground and lunging forward.

He caught him by surprise; Dream, who’d turned just in time to avoid getting stabbed in the back, grabbed the blade in gloved hands. Metal cut through leather, but not enough to stop him. Disarmed, Tommy disregarded the sword entirely and tackled him. Everything after that was a blur—crashing along the ground, his kick connecting, a blinding pain, curling into the grass with a dagger wound in his back—

Tommy passed out. 

Not for very long, but long enough so that Dream was already kneeling beside him when his eyesight returned. His hearing didn’t, though, judging by how he could see Dream saying something but only hear a ringing in his ears.

Tommy tried to say he was sorry, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

Dream didn’t look angry, even if his hands were cut and Tommy was bleeding out in the grass. Tommy wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d just left Tommy to the mercy of mobs and cold, but Dream gently picked him up and brought him back to the tent.

_ Hurts. Everything hurts. _

Tommy drifted in and out of awareness as Dream treated his wound, only moving from where he sat by his bed to drink whatever Dream pressed into his hands. 

It was a while after dark fell before his head cleared enough to talk again. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, voice dry.

“It’s alright,” Dream said from where he was rifling through his medical kit, voice quiet. “I’m not angry.”

“You should be,” Tommy whispered. “I don’t know what came over me, I—”

Dream silenced him with a simple, “Shh. I told you, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have provoked you.”

Tommy shut his eyes tightly, shivering in the cold. His shirt had been ripped beyond repair; that fight had been the last straw, and the bandages wrapped around him were nowhere near enough.

The full weight of what Tommy had done hit him all at once, and a wave of panic swept over him until he couldn’t breathe. Dream was his friend and Tommy could’ve killed him right then, the one person who was there for him. “I’m sorry,” he said again, voice cracking. “I don’t know what came over me, I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have—” 

He couldn’t speak, even as Dream sat down beside him, and rested his hand on Tommy’s arm. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Dream promised. 

“I deserve it,” Tommy whispered, clutching Dream’s arm weakly. “I deserve it, I tried to hurt you—”

“Because I provoked you,” he said gently. “It wasn’t right of me to do that, especially with everything you’re dealing with.”

Dream pulled Tommy closer as Tommy started crying despite himself, and Tommy leaned against his shoulder willingly. “You’re shivering.”

“It’s cold,” Tommy said numbly. His spare clothes were back home, and home felt years away.

“I’ll go to L’Manberg tonight,” Dream promised him as Tommy wiped his eyes. He dug through his bag and carelessly tossed one of his green sweaters to Tommy. “You can wear this until I’m back so you don’t freeze overnight.”

Tommy didn’t argue, putting it on and slumping down on his bed. He winced as the cut in his back stung, but the healing potions had dealt with the worst of the injury.

Dream started gathering his things so he could make the trip back to L’Manberg, but Tommy didn’t want him to leave. He never had the courage to say it out loud, though, knowing there was no choice.

When Tommy drifted off into an uneasy sleep, he thought he heard Tubbo’s voice in the distance, soft and echoing as if he were nothing more than a ghost. Tommy sat up, listening closely, but it was nothing more than the wind whispering through the grass.

He woke up several hours before sunrise, still in a daze. Wandering outside absent-mindedly, he drifted to the ocean and stared at the water, dark spare for the few rippling smears of pink from the coming morning.

The stars were so much brighter outside of the SMP, and Tommy lied down in the sand to stare at them. The wind still blew softly, just cold enough to make him shiver. 

He heard Tubbo again, laughing in the distance. But when he sat up, there was no one there.

“I’m losing it,” Tommy muttered to himself. “You’re not real.” He was still asleep and disorientated; the voice would vanish soon.

_ “I’m real,”  _ Tubbo said in mild confusion, sitting beside him. His weight didn’t shift the sand, but Tommy could see him, clear as day.  _ “Are you okay?” _

Tommy buried his head in his arms. “You left me.”

_ “I’m right here.”  _ Tubbo rocked back and forth, smiling. _"Two ghosts on a shore, but I'm here."_

Tommy stared at him with empty eyes.  _ Only because I want you to be. Only because I need you here.  _ He stared back at the ocean, and after a few seconds of silence, Tubbo was gone. 


	7. Almost Mercy

**_Almost Mercy_ **

When the sun rose, Tommy found Ghostbur sitting by the campfire with a cheerful look on his face, as if nothing had happened. 

“What are you doing here?” Tommy demanded, striding forward.

Ghostbur blinked slowly, surprised. “I’m just here to visit you.”

“Where were you?” Tommy snapped, gesturing around. “You didn’t come to my party, you just _left_ without even telling me!”

Ghostbur looked confused, almost dazed, even. “I don’t— I don’t remember,” he said, his voice fragile. “I remember seeing you in pain and my head started hurting and I couldn’t see anything—” He shook his head, and his usual smile returned. “It’s all very confusing, but I’m back now.”

“What about the party? And the invites?”

Ghostbur looked at him quizzically. “Yeah, I remember delivering the invites. And then I talked to Dream, and everything after that is just a blur. Do you want some bread? I got it from Niki’s bakery yesterday and it’s really good!”

Tommy didn’t even say anything, he just walked away.

He didn’t expect the ghost to follow him to the water, but he did, even when Tommy kept ignoring him. They sat in the sand together, Ghostbur floating aimlessly. Tommy rubbed his eyes, perpetually exhausted, but Tubbo’s voice snapped him out of it all immediately. “ _Hey, Tommy.”_

To Tommy’s shock, Ghostbur looked up as well. He couldn’t see him, only Tommy could, but—”

“You can hear him?” Tommy said in astonishment.

Ghostbur shrugged. “He’s not really there, is he?”

“I know, I’ve been hearing and seeing him—how can you?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. I can hear Schlatt sometimes, but Tubbo isn’t dead.”

 _Maybe I am,_ Tommy realized. _I’ve been dying for awhile now._

He took a deep breath as a numbing resignation settled over him. _I’m dying._

Tommy had lost everything already, hadn’t he? He’d lost his discs, his nation, his brothers, his best friend—what did he have left, except the choice to end everything on his own terms?

Christmas would be soon.

 _We can start to repair things,_ Dream had said, but Tommy knew Wilbur had been right in the end. Home was gone; L’Manberg would never really exist again, at least not the way they had dreamed it would. And Tubbo—Tubbo didn’t want him back, none of them did.

After L’Manberg’s destruction, Tommy and Tubbo had made a promise to one another. Sitting on their bench, looking out over the SMP, music disc playing in the background: 

“Promise me you won’t become the next Schlatt, Tubbo.”

Tubbo had looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. “As long as you don’t become the next Wilbur.”

_If I do end it all, I’ll break that promise._

Tommy spent the next few days in limbo, wandering around quietly and slipping further and further from himself. One person stepping through that portal to visit him would have been enough to bring him back, but no one did.

He didn’t eat anymore, unless Dream made him. Tommy was constantly in pain from one thing or another, so hunger pangs barely bothered him. Everything hurt all the time anyway, and he could barely sleep to find relief from it. 

Tommy wondered whether he’d come back as a ghost. Maybe he’d just fade away, like Schlatt had. Wilbur’s unfinished symphony kept his ghost tied to L’Manberg forever, unable to escape, but Tommy didn’t plan to leave anything behind.

_What about your discs?_

Christmas Eve came around. Dream had left early, promising to bring him to L’Manberg the following day. “There’s a Christmas tree and all,” he promised. “And a few people have gifts for you.”

Tommy doubted that was true, just like the party hadn’t been. Nobody cared anymore; Tommy had served his purpose, and he’d never go home again.

Compass heavy on his chest, he walked closer and closer to the nether portal. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet anymore, and the hand he placed along the portal’s obsidian rim was pallid and dry. 

Some buried voice begged him not to go through, but Tommy had no choice.

The heat of the nether didn’t sear his lungs anymore. It was comforting now, a break from the endless cold of the many nights he stayed awake, staring at the empty canvas of his tent and wishing Tubbo was there. Tubbo—he missed Tubbo so badly it hurt, but they had both broken their promises to each other.

 _Don’t become like Schlatt,_ Tommy had warned him, and Tubbo had.

 _Don’t become like Wilbur,_ Tubbo had said, and Tommy would. His brother had understood the truth earlier than all of them. Techno did too, he’d just been strong enough to survive it. Tommy wasn't. 

The bridge between the nether hub and his portal was hundred of blocks above the lava expanses stretching across the nether, and Tommy was mesmerized by the swirling glow of red and orange staining the lakes below. He stepped up to the very edge, compass in hand, waiting to feel fear shoot through him at the prospect of dying.

It did, and he welcomed it.

Tommy took a deep breath, steeling himself to step off. He would die crying over his compass, thinking of Tubbo and L’Manberg and kinder days. He’d jump and people would mourn and then they’d move on. He’d— 

“Tommy?” Dream asked uncertainly. 

He turned to face his friend—captor—enemy—and even as he stared at the mask’s empty smile, he felt nothing. Dream took a step forward and Tommy held up a hand in warning, both of them knowing full well what he was on the verge of doing.

“It’s Christmas eve,” Dream said quietly, watching him. “You can go back to L’Manberg. You can go back home.”

“Home’s gone,” Tommy said simply. “They don’t want me back. This,”—he looked down at the lava— “It’s all I have left.”

“It isn’t,” Dream tried to reason, taking a step forward. “You can have everything back, Tommy. Just come home.”

“You’re a liar, Dream,” Tommy whispered. “You know that?” He gestured around, and a grin split his face. “You’ve taken everything from me, but you can’t take this.” He looked down at the lava again for reassurance, his foot just inches away from the ledge. “You split me and Tubbo apart, you stole my discs, you gave Wilbur the means in which to destroy our home, but you can’t take this.”

“Tommy, don’t,” Dream warned, traces of fear in his voice.

“Listen, Dream,” Tommy said calmly, shoulders dropping. “I know we’re not friends, we never were. But I need you to—to tell Tubbo something for me. Tell him I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Dream repeated, stepping forward. 

Tommy smiled despite the tears that started dripping down his face. “I’m scared, you know,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I’m scared to die.” He took a careful breath. “Burn the discs for me, will you? I don’t want to come back.”

“And what about everything you’re leaving behind? Tubbo and L’Manberg and _me—”_

“Tubbo doesn’t care about me anymore.”

“I do,” Dream said, voice hushed. “I care about you, Tommy.”

Tommy shook his head. “You know I can’t believe that.”

A small _click_ sounded.

For the first time since Tommy had met him, Dream took off his mask.

Words failed him. He should have said something, _done_ something, but he was still like a statue when Dream stretched out his hand. “Come with me,” Dream pleaded, and Tommy looked away the second he came back to his senses.

Too late, he’d seen what Dream looked like. Short dirty-blond hair, green eyes, a pale scar across the bridge of his nose, a warm look on his face— 

“It’s okay,” Dream promised, hand still outstretched. “I trust you, Tommy. Look at me.”

Tommy did.

He took Dream’s hand, letting himself be pulled away from the edge. Even as Dream held him tightly, a wave of misery so strong swept over him he collapsed, falling onto the coarse netherrack as his vision went black. 

They sat there together, Tommy crying into Dream’s shoulder as he tried to grasp what he hadn’t done. _I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here._

Something inside him had snapped, glass against his chest that lost its edge the longer he stayed there. Dream ran his fingers through Tommy’s hair to calm him down, and Tommy stopped shaking after a while. 

“Will you be alright?” Dream asked.

“I don’t know,” Tommy whispered, eyes closed. “I just—I want things to go back to the way they were before.”

Dream sighed. “They can’t. But that doesn’t mean things can’t be better.”

Tommy thought to himself, for a long time. He’d always have the chance to take his decision back. But thoughts still drifted through his head to remind him that Dream was right. Thoughts about dying, about Tubbo, about home—things were already the worst they could be. 

So when Dream carefully picked Tommy up to take him back to Logstedshire, it was almost mercy.


	8. Empty Sky

**_Empty Sky_ **

For the first time in a while, Tommy wasn’t cold when he woke up. 

Sunlight was streaming through the window of the house in Logstedshire, bringing with it the warm air of still afternoons. Tommy sat up, blinking to clear his vision and enjoying the tranquility in his few blissful moments of forgetfulness. He had forgotten that feeling of calm, and it didn't last. 

Everything rushed back to him all at once, terror robbing him of breath several seconds. “Dream?” he cried out, voice unsteady. “Dream? Dream!” He stumbled out of the house, light blinding his eyes. “Dream!”

The distant reply brought Tommy relief he didn’t understand. The light whiz of an ender pearl hitting the ground sounded from behind him, and Dream appeared out of thin air. “Are you okay?”

Tommy nodded, leaning against one of the house’s supports for balance. “Sorry, I—I woke up and I just panicked.”

“That’s alright,” Dream said easily. “You slept through most of the day, so it’s good to see you up.” He took Tommy’s arm to pull him towards the campfire. “Come eat. It’s been more than an entire day.”

Tommy followed him without arguing. “You moved my stuff to the house,” he said blankly.

“You’re sleeping there now,” Dream told him, and his tone was absolute. “It’s getting too cold out.”

Tommy nodded, sitting down by the campfire with his arms wrapped around himself. It was calm out, and in the silence, he muttered, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Dream shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Tommy.”

“I know, but—thank you.”

Dream was quiet for a long moment before taking off his mask, setting it down beside him as Tommy looked away. He’d never get used to it, after so long of knowing Dream as nothing more than a masked figure with an empty smile. Through all their wars over the discs and L’Manberg, for all the pain they had caused each other; here they were now, Tommy almost having killed himself and Dream trusting him with something so few others knew.

“Who else?” Tommy asked almost shyly, knowing Dream knew what he was asking. 

Dream thought about it for a second. “Sapnap knew me before I started wearing my mask, and I showed George a few years ago. Other than that,”—he shrugged—“No one knows.” 

Tommy didn’t even want to ask _why_ he wore the mask, too caught up in the realization of what Dream’s gesture meant. “Why me?”

“Because I needed to show you that I cared,” Dream told him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Tommy nodded, staring at the late afternoon sky. The sun was setting, smearing the sky and ocean with pink and orange as the fire crackled comfortingly in the background. Dream handed him food and he ate it absent-mindedly, slowly collecting himself. 

Eventually, Tommy said, “It’s just—I miss home. It’s gone, and even Tubbo doesn’t want me back.” He stared down at his compass, blinking back angry tears as he stared at the engraving. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Dream thought for a second and stood up, walking behind Tommy to untie the string holding his compass. 

“What are you doing with that?” Tommy asked, alarm creeping into his voice.

“I’m burning it.”

_What?_

Tommy leapt to his feet, stepping directly into Dream’s path. “No, you’re not.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t argue with me, Tommy.”

A sudden flare of rage burst within Tommy’s chest at Dream’s patronizing tone. “Give me the fucking compass.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Dream demanded, gesturing. 

“What’s wrong with me?” Tommy seethed. “That’s the only thing I have left!”

“You only think it is,” Dream said, warmth gone from his voice and hand wrapped around the compass. “This is for the best. Get out of my way.”

Tommy stood his ground.

Dream sighed, shaking his head. “I really thought you learned, Tommy,” he admitted, almost sounding sorry. “But if you’re going to force me to do things the hard way—” His grip around the compass tightened, and Tommy’s heart dropped. 

_Tubbo._

Tommy lunged forward, grabbing Dream’s arm before he could smash the compass. Pain burst across his face as Dream hit him, and a quick blow to the back of his knee sent Tommy stumbling to the ground.

“Stay down,” Dream warned him, warmth gone from his voice as he stepped away. 

Tommy lay there on the ground, breathing hard. Every time they fought, Tommy seemed to find himself on the ground staring up at an empty sky. Helpless, pathetic humiliated—he was sick of it. He was so fucking sick of it that he spat in Dream’s direction before getting back to his feet. _Fuck_ what he owed Dream, he wasn't letting this happen. “No.”

Dream hit him again.

Tommy flinched, burning anger taking root in his chest. “I won’t let you destroy the compass,” he repeated viciously. 

Dream paid no mind to him, until Tommy let his fury take hold and punched him across the face. 

Silence. 

He regretted it immediately, appalled with himself. _Why did I—_

Dream put his mask back on, the lifeless smile staring at Tommy for several long seconds. Heart sinking, Tommy braced himself for the worst. “Alright,” Dream conceded suddenly. “I won’t destroy it.”

Tommy blinked in surprise, uneasy at the change in tone. “You won’t?”

“I won’t.” Dream said. “You will.” He took Tommy’s arm in a vice grip and dragged him over to the fire. “Toss it in,” he said, pressing the compass into his hands. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tommy burst out.

“What’s wrong with me?” Dream cut in, voice equally furious. “What’s wrong with _me?_ I’ve been doing everything I can to save your life and even after all this time, you can’t even _listen!_ That compass is causing you a world of hurt and you hit me for helping you!”

“I’m not fucking destroying my compass,” Tommy growled. “Tubbo’s my friend.”

“Where was Tubbo when you were alone in the wilderness with nothing?” Dream challenged. “Where was Tubbo during your party? Where was Tubbo when you were in the nether about to kill yourself?”

“He’s not here because you forced him to exile me,” Tommy spat, wrenching his arm out Dream’s grasp. 

Of all things, Dream laughed; a horrible, genuine, mocking laugh, as if there was something amusing about what Tommy had said. “You want to know why he’s not here, Tommy? You want to know why nobody visits you?” he asked, and Tommy could picture him smiling behind his mask. “It’s not because of your exile, or because of me. It’s because he’s finally realized that you’re not a good person for him to be around. Everyone has.”

Tommy gritted his teeth. “You’re a lar.”

“Am I?” Dream asked idly, circling him. “You take advantage of his kindness, you push him around, you cause problems, you cause _wars_ —he’s always been trailing behind to fix all your problems, and you blame him for finally letting you carry the consequences of your own mistakes.”

“Shut up,” Tommy growled, clinging to his compass.. 

“Am I wrong?” Dream asked.

“Tubbo’s my friend.”

Dream stopped behind him, gloved hand on Tommy’s shoulder to whisper cruelly: “You don’t deserve him.”

Tommy shook his head, more desperately this time as he shook off Dream’s grip. “That’s not true.” The fury in his chest was rising again, only fueled by his denial. He wanted to _hurt_ Dream so badly for those words—they couldn’t be true. They couldn’t be true.

Dream sighed, brushing a strand of Tommy’s hair out of his face. “You know I care about you, Tommy. This is for the best and you can’t even trust me.”

Tommy shook his head, mind made up and blood boiling. “I’m not burning the compass.”

Dream’s fingers dug into his scalp as his voice turned dangerous. “You’re burning that fucking compass, or you’re never seeing home again.”

Tommy threw the first punch, but not fast enough.

It was the most brutal fight Tommy had ever been in.

That was saying a lot, considering he’d been shot in the chest with an arrow and stabbed in the back before. But this—this was different. Neither of them had armor or weapons, but both had every intention to _hurt_ — and only one of them was malnourished and unstable.

Dream blocked Tommy’s first blow just enough to avoid getting hit in the face, but Tommy didn’t let up. He struck Dream once, twice before a swift kick to the chest sent him sprawling. Dream didn’t wait for Tommy to get up, bringing his foot down on his arm as he rolled to the side and leapt to his feet. 

There was no second of silence, no sizing each other up. Dream darted forward immediately and Tommy was too slow to duck aside, crashing to the ground yet again as Dream tackled him. Tommy struggled to find purchase on the ground, trapped down by Dream’s weight. 

Dream caught Tommy’s arm and pinned it to the ground, hand on his chest to stop him from getting up. “I saved your life and this is how you repay me?” Dream seethed, fingers digging painfully into Tommy’s arm. 

“Fuck you,” Tommy spat, and drew his leg back to kick Dream away from him. Tommy recovered fastest, following up with an elbow that connected squarely with his stomach. 

Following the strangled gasp for breath, Tommy tore Dream’s mask off his face and threw it to the ground. Dream’s few seconds of disorientation were long enough for Tommy to bring his foot down on the mask, breaking it neatly in half with a satisfying _crack_.

They locked eyes, and the look Tommy saw on Dream’s face chilled him to the bone. The coldest, most uncompromising look of fury Tommy had ever seen, and it was then he realized— 

He’d fucked up.

A desperate apology was halfway out of his mouth before Dream hit him across the face so hard his eyes watered. Any thoughts of continuing the fight slipped away as Tommy wavered on his feet, heart racing with panic. “I’m sorry, I—”

One quick strike to the throat, and he never got to finish his sentence. 

“I didn’t want to resort to doing things this way,” Dream said evenly, shoving Tommy to the ground, “But you haven’t left me any other choice. If you’re not going to listen—” He cut his words short to reach for his bag, and returned holding a small glass bottle.

Tommy recognized the dark, glowing liquid inside—a weakness potion. He shook his head frantically, scrambling away as Dream approached him. 

“Please,” he begged and Dream hauled him up. “I’m sorry. Please—”

Dream silenced him by forcing the liquid down his throat.

The potion burned as it went down, and its numbing effects took hold slowly. Tommy’s awareness faded for only a second, but he was conscious the entire time as Dream dragged him unceremoniously through the grass. 

Water. Tommy heard water, flowing and trickling over rocks. They were at the river—why at the river?

He opened his mouth to cry for help, but nothing came out. Struggling was useless, limbs too heavy and nausea sweeping over him. He couldn’t see anything in the dark, but he could feel Dream holding him and hear his voice, a low mutter of, “This should teach you to _listen._ ”

Tommy tried to beg one more time, but he never got the chance before Dream dragged him under the water.


	9. It Happened Quiet

**_It Happened Quiet_ **

Tommy had almost drowned once when he was younger, and he had never forgotten it. 

The background details were blurry—like why he’d been by the ocean with Techno and Wilbur when he was ten, why he’d swum out too far to begin with. And when a storm came in and the water became rougher than he could handle, Tommy had screamed for help.

A wave had broken over his head and he’d been dragged head-over-heels along the sand, salt stinging his eyes, desperate for air, heart bursting in his chest. That feeling was still crystal clear—the unshakable, resolute terror of not knowing where the sky was and feeling the air—and time—drain out bit by bit. The realization that he might die right then, fall unconscious never to wake up again with everything left unresolved and cut short—he’d never forget. 

But he hadn’t died. Wilbur had scooped him out of the water and carried him back to the shore, and Tommy had cried silently the entire way home until Philza hugged him into calming down.

What was happening now was so much worse.

The silence of rushing water was the same—drowning always happened quiet—but nothing else. For Tommy wasn’t being dragged along the sand, he was pinned down by Dream’s weight with the surface of the water so close he could reach out and touch it. The weakness potion might have numbed him from the cold, but certainly not the heart-stopping terror, flooding him as he fought against Dream’s hold. 

_He’s going to kill me._

Tommy couldn’t scream aloud without drowning, but he could hear it in his head as the ache in his chest started building. He was running out of oxygen ever-so-slowly, and it _hurt._ It hurt so badly he wanted to cry like he had when he was ten. Wilbur wasn’t here to help him anymore, and thrashing against Dream’s grip did nothing.

The surface was right there. Right above his head, an escape from the pain and the terror and the awareness of his own impending death. Right there.

Drowning was one of the worst deaths imaginable, and it wasn’t for the reasons Tommy had already experienced. As his vision started blacking out and his own beating heart pounded in his ears, the pressing urge to open his mouth and _breathe_ was building. 

He knew he would suffer if he did, but reason did little against instinct. Even as he tried so hard not to, Tommy came so close to inhaling that he tried to clamp his hands over his mouth. But Dream had pinned his arms down too, leaving Tommy at the mercy of his own self-control. 

_Breathe._

His thrashing grew weaker and weaker.

_Breathe._

The rushing of the water grew silent, and Tommy’s vision went black.

_Breathe!_

Tommy opened his mouth and breathed.

Dream hauled him out of the water.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—_

Cold air found its way into Tommy’s lungs as he gasped, spluttering water as he curled up against the sand and stone of the riverbank. The pain stopped as his sight returned, but he didn’t stop hyperventilating until Dream rested his hand in Tommy’s hair.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, and Tommy clung to him without thinking. Both of them were soaking wet and cold, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to move. He braced himself for Dream to do it again, only for Dream to hush him and say, "It's over. You're okay."

_I’m alive. I’m alive, I’m okay, I’m here—_

Tommy tried to move, but the weakness potion and shock had deaded his movement. He could barely look up to face Dream; Dream, who was still holding him tightly trying to calm him down.

"I'm sorry," Tommy managed to say out loud.

"Don't be." Dream carefully picked him up to carry him back to Logstedshire, all the anger gone from his eyes and face. He still had the compass after their fight, but he handed it to Tommy as soon as he'd set him down in Logstedshire. 

Tommy looked up at him uncertainly, and Dream motioned outside. “You know what to do.”

Any thought of protesting was stamped out by the memory of being underwater, drowning. Tommy stood up unsteadily, heart twisting as he stumbled out of Logstedshire and to the nether portal.

The nether’s searing heat was almost a comfort after the water and cold, even if the breathlessness it brought on wasn’t. Dream followed him through, never leaving his side or letting go of his shoulder.

Tommy stood at the edge of the lava, eyes fixed on the compass’s engraving knowing what Dream wanted him to do. _Your Tubbo._

Memories came flashing back—sitting at the bench, fooling around in L’Manberg, taking on Dream together, surviving war and death with Tubbo at his side. Here they were now, split apart forever, both having broken their promises to each other. 

_You’ll always be able to find your way back to each other again._

_Not Tubbo,_ Tommy thought desperately to himself. But deep down, he knew that his friend had left him behind. There was no point in getting hurt for holding on, not if Tubbo would never reciprocate. 

Tommy, holding back tears, let the compass slip from his fingers and plummet into the lava below. 

That night found him staring at the ceiling of the house in Logstedshire as he sat in his bed, heart numb with pain. He would have cried, but Dream was sitting on the floor, running his finger along the broken half of his mask and leaning against the foot of Tommy’s bed.

“I’m sorry about your mask,” Tommy mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Dream said. “I have another one.” He set the two pieces down. 

When Tommy didn’t say anything, Dream stood up to look at him and said, “You don’t understand why I did the things I did, do you?” It wasn't much of a question. "I can see your anger. You still don't understand any of this."

Tommy shook his head, afraid to say anything aloud lest he betrayed the hatred taking root inside of him. He hated Dream so fucking much—and yet he wouldn’t be lying if he said Dream was his only friend left. Hatred had nothing on fear, and Tommy knew he’d do anything to save himself from having to go through what had happened again. Even if it meant following Dream’s every whim and request. After all, Tommy had already lost everything.

Dream sighed, sitting at the foot of Tommy’s bed. “All this—taking your armor, hitting you, drowning you—is for the same reason Tubbo and I exiled you in the first place. Because no matter the circumstances, you refuse to listen to the people who don’t make the decisions you want. You refuse to do anything that you don't want to, even if it's for your own good.”

“I—” Tommy faltered. He had nothing to say. Even if he did, what would he risk voicing aloud? 

“Why do you think _Tubbo_ was your best friend for so long?” Dream asked upon seeing him hesitate. “Because he always followed your lead, he always let you decide what was right and what was wrong. The second he became president and had to make decisions for not only himself, but an entire nation, you split apart.”

The words hurt to hear, but Tommy didn’t argue. He had the sinking feeling Dream was right.

“You forced his hand,” Dream continued. “Just like you forced mine. I can’t let you stay in exile forever, Tommy. You said it yourself: you won’t survive it. You almost didn’t.”

Tommy hugged his knees to his chest, still trying not to cry even as Dream’s words made more and more sense. “But why drown me?” he muttered, voice cracking.

Dream shook his head. “I tried everything else to make you learn, Tommy. And yet you insisted on making things more difficult for the both of us. That was what it took, and so I did it. I can't leave you in exile forever, Tommy. I don't want to do that to you.”

Tommy shut his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Wilbur was always here before when I did stupid things and now he’s gone—” He had to stop to take a deep breath. “He was barely enough, was he? I still did stupid things all the time. What's wrong with me?”

Dream thought carefully for a few seconds, studying Tommy carefully.

“What happened between you two in Pogtopia?” he asked hesitantly. “You said something about him once, when you were half asleep.”

Tommy shivered, heart hurting from the memories. “He started slipping bit by bit after we lost L’Manberg,” he admitted. Tommy had never told anyone what Wilbur had done, but he couldn’t bring himself to keep it in any longer. “He’d lose his patience with me all the time. The first time he hit me, I think it was when I broke the mechanisms of the potato farm Techno had made. Techno saw it happen and just ignored us both. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Things got worse?”

Tommy nodded. “A trapdoor fell on me when I was digging out the ravine and I got pinned under it. Wilbur left me there all night in the dark, freezing so badly I could barely use my hands the next day. And after Techno almost murdered Tubbo at the festival…”—Tommy hesitated— “I was so mad. And Wilbur goaded me into fighting it out with Techno, and I snapped. Like with you.”

Dream shook his head sadly. “How far did Techno take it?”

“We had no weapons, no armor,” Tommy said quietly. “I was half-conscious when he stopped. Actually, Niki stepped in first—I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t.”

“Wilbur came to the same conclusion I did, then,” Dream said. “That this is the only way to make you _listen_. You know I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Is that why nobody came to visit me?” Tommy said, voice trembling. “Because I can’t listen—because I’m a bad person?”

Dream hesitated, which was as good a concession. “Listen, Tommy—all I can say is that you tried to kill me for helping you, and yet you wonder why all your other friends are gone.”

He saw Tommy’s face and how hard he was trying not to break down, and smiled sadly. “It’s okay to cry,” he whispered, sitting beside Tommy to put his arm over Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Tommy shook his head, leaning against Dream’s shoulder as he began to calm down.

“Good,” Dream muttered. “See? You’re learning. You even burned the compass when I asked.”

“I know,” Tommy said, hand going to his chest where the compass’s comforting weight used to sit. “But I didn’t want to. It was one of the few things I had left.”

Dream shook his head. “That compass was causing you a world of hurt. You don’t think I saw you sitting for hours in front of the portal, hoping Tubbo would come visit you? Or how you were crying over it before you were about to kill yourself? It was breaking your heart. You can’t accept he’s abandoned you.”

“It’s my fault.”

“No,” Dream reassured him. “Everyone made their own wrong decisions. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

Tommy wiped his watering eyes. “Okay.”

He half-expected Dream to leave him to cry himself to sleep, but Dream only shifted back so his back was against the wall and pulled Tommy closer to him. Tommy fell asleep that way, passed out in Dream’s arms like he might have with Wilbur, all that time ago before everything had changed.

He dreamt of drowning again. Except this time, it wasn’t Dream pinning him under the water but Wilbur, then Techno, then Tubbo. Each time, Tommy fought with all he had to reach the surface, but he only sank deeper and deeper, until the light was nothing but a star-like pinprick far, far above. 

Drowning always happened quietly, and Tommy had always hated the silence. 


	10. Lie, Lie, Lie

**_Lie, Lie, Lie_ **

“Sapnap and Bad are coming to visit tomorrow,” Dream told him unexpectedly a week later, as Tommy was mining. The past days had been uneventful: training with Dream, building up Logstedshire after Ghostbur had vanished, trying to establish some routine, some way to keep busy and keep his mind off things. Tommy didn’t know what prompted the sudden announcement, as they were simply wandering around caves mining all the ores he could find. 

He was really starting to like mining, even if Dream took his diamonds after. In fact, Dream took most of the things he made, and sometimes even had requests for what he needed Tommy to do for him. If he asked for redstone, then Tommy would spend the day mining it. If he needed basalt or quartz or anything dangerous, he’d give Tommy armor and weapons for the day and let him into the nether. 

Tommy didn’t mind; the tasks gave him something to do, even if he couldn’t fathom why Dream would need stacks of obsidian and blackstone. Dream would always do something for him in return, like let Tommy use his trident or bring food from Niki’s bakery. He’d asked if Tommy wanted news of L’Manberg, but Tommy had declined. He may not be part of L'Manberg anymore, but getting the chance to talk with Bad and Sapnap again?

A grin split Tommy’s face at Dream’s words. “They're coming? Really?”

Dream nodded. “Figured you’d like the company. Also, Sapnap didn’t believe me when I said you could beat him in a swordfight.” 

Tommy beamed. “You think I can?”

“Probably,” Dream said, amused. “We’ll have to see.” He gestured down the tunnel. “It’s getting late. Let’s go back.”

Tommy pried his torch from a ledge in the wall and followed, strangely nervous. He hadn’t talked with Sapnap since their agreement to end the string of skirmishes that had started with Henry, and after so long without talking with anyone other than Dream, he didn’t know what would happen.

His excitement was further reduced not long after. Just before he left, Dream hesitated before saying, “Look, Tommy—try not to let Sapnap know you’re struggling with exile, alright? I don’t trust him not to use it against you.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ll try my best.” 

Dream smiled.

The first Tommy heard of Bad and Sapnap the next morning was a very indignant, “Language!” ringing out across the plains.

Tommy grinned and darted out of the wooden walls of Logstedshire, heading straight for the three figures gathered around the portal. 

“I’m telling you,” Sapnap was saying, a shit-eating grin on his face as Bad berated him. “That’s the only way it’s gonna—” He spotted Tommy and grinned, pointing his sword as Tommy drifted to a halt. “Me and you need to have a conversation.”

“By conversation, he means fight,” Dream said, grinning. He shoved Sapnap’s sword down. “With  _ practice  _ weapons. I’m not having you two accidentally kill each other.”

“Accidentally?” Bad asked dubiously.

Dream tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Deliberately.”

Sapnap grinned, catching the practice sword Dream tossed him as he and Tommy both shifted into defensive stances. A long-forgotten rush of exhilaration flooded Tommy as he struck first, intoxicated with the prospect of defeating Sapnap after spending so long getting his ass kicked. But he was careful not to let his emotions get in his way, as Dream had taught him.

Their back-and-forths started slow, sizing each other up as Dream circled them with a watchful eye. Each bout lasted a few swings before they’d jump back, each unwilling to commit. More often than not, it was Sapnap forced to disengage early, and Tommy saw a flicker of unease flit across his face.

That was his cue. He lunged forward, repeating the motions that had become routine, only to press forward when Sapnap stepped back. That was when the fight really began, and it was a close one.

Bad cheered them on as Sapnap parried Tommy’s first blow with ease, balance unshaken. Tommy wasn’t strong enough to disorient him, even with his weight behind all his strikes, and so he relied on quick strikes instead; small blows to Sapnap’s arm, wrist, side—delivering more than he took. Just as Dream had trained him, he punished each overreach and used his free hand to punch and leg to kick whenever the opportunity arose—Sapnap kept up, but too late, he’d underestimated Tommy.

Tommy saw his chance and grabbed the hilt of Sapnap’s sword, ramming his own hilt into Sapnap’s side and prying his weapon out of his hand. Bad gave an overexaggerated gasp as Dream started laughing, and Tommy was left holding two swords and grinning at a sour-looking Sapnap. 

“Aw, Sapnap,” Bad teased. “You just got beaten by a sixteen year old!”

“No, no, no,” Sapnap insisted. “I want a rematch.”

“Fat chance,” Tommy said smugly, handing the weapons back to Dream. 

Sapnap gave Dream a pleading look, only for Dream to shake his head and tease, “Maybe next time you come visit.”

Sapnap groaned, but he gave Tommy an amused shake of the head when their eyes met. It was as good as praise as Tommy was gonna get, and he couldn’t be more delighted.

Sapnap and Bad stayed for the entire afternoon, joking around with Dream and Tommy as they wandered around Logstedshire and sat by the beach. Tommy felt better than he had in a long time, and it was so relieving to have people to joke around with that he started dreading the time when they’d have to leave.

The sun was inching towards the horizon when Dream and Sapnap absconded off to spar together, Sapnap no doubt scheming to win the next fight against Tommy. It was just Bad and Tommy sitting in the sand together, and Bad grinned. “I brought you a gift!”

“You did?”

“Yeah, of course. I meant to give it to you for Christmas, but I didn’t see you,” Bad said sheepishly, digging through his bag. He pulled out a carefully wrapped music disc, and Tommy’s heart skipped a beat. 

“It’s not one of yours,” Bad said apologetically as Tommy stared at it with wide eyes, “But I figured you’d like it nonetheless.”

Speechless, Tommy looked up at Bad. “I—thank you,” he whispered. 

Bad grinned playfully. “Don’t tell Dream I gave it to you,” he teased.

Tommy nodded without thinking, but the words echoed in his head. 

_ Don’t tell Dream— don’t tell Dream—lie—lie—lie— _

_ You know I don’t like it when you lie to me, Tommy. _

Tommy stopped breathing for several seconds, and it took careful control to hide the panic from his face. He prayed Bad hadn’t noticed, and in the time it took for Tommy to dart back to Logstedshire to hide the disc in a chest, he managed to collect himself.

“Listen, Bad—” he said awkwardly when he returned. “I really appreciate it.”

“Aw, thanks,” Bad said. “I’m not used to you being genuine.”

“I know,” Tommy mumbled. “I’m trying to fix that.” He would have said more, or apologized or something, but Dream and Sapnap came trudging back mid-conversation. 

“I think we should be off,” Sapnap said, looking at the sunset. “It’s getting late."

A pang of disappointment ran through Tommy, but he shoved it down. “Thanks for coming!” he told them as brightly as he could. Bad waved before stepping through the portal, and Sapnap gave him a deathly stare that said,  _ I’mma get you next time. _

Then, they were gone.

“Well,” Dream said in satisfaction, “That was fun.”

“Thanks for bringing them here,” Tommy told him, even if his thoughts were still on the music disc in his chest. “I haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

Dream smiled warmly. “I knew it’d cheer you up.” He motioned to the darkening sky. “I need to return, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tommy watched him step through the portal, and some of the anxiety in his chest eased as soon as Dream was gone. Left alone in Logstedshire, he opened his chest and pulled the music disc out, studying it carefully. He didn’t risk playing it, even if he had a jukebox, as he didn’t know how Dream would react to finding it.

_ Hide it.  _

After some deliberation, Tommy pried off the floorboards of the house and dug out some of the dirt underneath, carving out enough space for a chest. He hid the disc inside and replaced the boards, making sure the secret compartment was invisible.

Even when it was, Tommy couldn’t shake his anxiety as he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling.  _ Liar, liar, liar—  _

He was a terrible person, wasn’t he? Dream would find out, and Tommy would get what he deserved. He’d get what he deserved, he’d get what he deserved.

_ Lie, lie, lie—  _

“That was fun,” Bad said half-heartedly as he and Sapnap trekked through the nether. He wasn’t joking, but judging by the look Sapnap gave him, the same thing might have been nagging him too.

“Yeah,” Sapnap replied flatly, and Bad decided to stop dancing around it.

“Did Tommy seem a little odd to you today?” he asked, stopping in his tracks to force Sapnap to acknowledge the conversation.

Sapnap shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s exiled, so he’s probably not going to—”

“He didn’t curse at me,” Bad cut in, a hint of panic in his voice. “We were with him for hours and he didn’t curse at me  _ once. _ ”

Sapnap stopped too, the realization dawning on him. “Holy shit, he didn’t.”

“And...I don’t know,” Bad trailed off. “I was getting a weird feeling about Dream, too.”

Sapnap frowned. “Why?”

Bad shrugged. “He and Tommy were never on good terms before, weren’t they? So why is Dream helping him now?”

“No one else is. And Tommy seems to enjoy his company, so why worry?”

Bad hesitated and started walking again. “I don’t know.”

“Listen,” Sapnap assured him. “Dream would know if something was seriously wrong with Tommy. Don’t worry about him.”

Bad nodded. “Alright.”

The pair kept on walking in the nether’s smoldering heat, but Bad couldn’t put it out of his mind. He’d seen Tommy’s reaction upon receiving the disc, and his face upon hearing the playful suggestion to keep it a secret from Dream. He could have imagined the panic, or— 

_ Someone’s a liar here.  _


	11. Fear of the Water

**_Fear of the Water_ **

That disc from Bad had taught Tommy something important. After the third day it lay hidden under the floorboards, he came to a realization: Dream wasn’t all-knowing. His small act of rebellion had gone unnoticed, even if lying made him feel like shit.

Yet so many times, Tommy had found himself on the verge of admitting everything. It would have been the selfless thing to do, even if he was punished for it. _Especially_ if he was punished for it. But Tommy wasn’t selfless, he was scared—scared enough to keep it a secret while doing anything Dream asked of him. After all, he owed Dream everything.

Spare for the disc, though, things were looking up. Dream helped him with almost everything now, even if Tommy never asked him. He started bringing Tommy actual food from L’Manberg after finding him throwing up from eating the same things every day, he forbade him from mining after Tommy worked to the point where his hands were bleeding, he made sure Tommy was safe when he went into the nether—all of it added up, and Tommy couldn’t even pay it back with honesty.

_You’re a horrible person, you know that?_

So when Tommy got into an argument with Dream over iron he wanted and Dream left him without anything to eat for the day, he was almost grateful as he stared at the sky, unable to relax. Pain was fine, as long as it wasn’t drowning. 

Anything but drowning. 

He deserved it, anyway. 

Bad was on his way to talk with Skeppy when he saw Dream leave the nether portal, vanishing into the community house without a trace. _He’s away from Logstedshire._ Even though he knew it shouldn’t matter, Bad was struck with the unshakeable urge to visit Tommy. He knew he was being paranoid, as it had only been a few days since he’d last seen him, but what harm could it do? 

_Just a simple visit._

He repeated that over and over, until he almost thought he believed it. Assuming the worst was mean of him, especially when Dream was his friend.

So why was he looking over his shoulder the entire trip through the nether, certain that Dream would be following?

Bad had never been the ‘trust your instincts’ type of person, but his gut was saying something was wrong. Perhaps he was imagining the unease that flickered across Tommy’s face when he saw him from the campfire because he expected it to happen. 

“Hey, Bad,” Tommy said, voice light. “You’re—does Dream know you’re here?”

Bad smiled in the friendliest way he could. “Nope. Although I did see him on the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Tommy nodded, visibly relaxing. “So why now? Did something happen?”

Bad shook his head, sitting across from Tommy. “You looked so disappointed when we left next time, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.” He tossed Tommy his trident. “You wanna use this again?”

Tommy caught it uncertainly, but the eagerness in his voice was unmistakable. “Yeah!”

Bad let him dart off to the ocean, using the distraction to take a look around. Everything about Logstedshire seemed normal at first, but the closer he looked, the more he found. Like the charred grass in some places, the split in one of the wooden logs he was sitting on like someone had taken an axe to it, what might very well be dried blood on a few stalks of grass— 

Distracted as he was, Bad almost didn’t see Tommy pass out on the shore. 

The thump on sand was what startled him into looking up, and finding Tommy lying motionless on his side drew him to leap to his feet. 

“Tommy?” he exclaimed. To his relief, Tommy stirred immediately. 

“Sorry,” Tommy said, voice weak. He sat up without too much effort. “My vision just kinda went dark and…”

“You passed out,” Bad said, voice worried as he helped him to his feet. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Probably just hunger.”

“You haven’t eaten?”

Tommy shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Nope.”

Bad looked at him crossly. “Why?”

Tommy didn’t look at him, keeping his voice casual. “I don’t know. Dream usually brings me food, but he left today.”

Bad tried not to let his unease show on his face, as he could tell Tommy wanted nothing more but to change the subject. “That’s fine,” he said cheerfully, digging through his bag. “I have extra food.”

“No, it’s fine—” Tommy insisted, only for Bad to give him a stern look.

“Eat, you muffinhead” he said almost affectionately. He took Tommy’s arm to drag him to the campfire, Tommy reluctant all the way. Something occurred to him. “I’ll tell Dream if you don’t.” 

Tommy sat down and ate without another protest.

_Maybe I’m right after all._

But for all his efforts, Tommy turned to him after eating with a hesitant look and said, “I really appreciate the visit, Bad, but I kinda have things to do tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Bad said kindly. “You let me know if you need anything else. Before I go, though—” He dumped all the food rations he had in Tommy’s arms. “Just in case it happens again.”

“I can’t take this,” Tommy protested.

Bad gave him a pleading look. “Please? It’ll make me really happy.” He couldn’t imagine saying such bluntly sweet words without the Tommy he knew mocking him endlessly for it, but it actually worked. Tommy took the rations and dumped them in his storage chest.

 _What on earth happened to him?_ Bad wondered in part amazement, part terrible unease. He wanted to help so badly, but the look Tommy gave him upon returning to find Bad still there said enough.

His presence—and his prying—wasn’t welcome anymore. 

Helpless to do anything, Bad took his trident and left for the nether.

The food rations were added to Tommy’s secret stockpile, and that was the end of it.

Or at least, Tommy thought. Over the course of the week, Bad came back to give him more things: iron, weapons, food, Christmas gifts from the other SMP members that had never been delivered—Bad was careful, and Dream noticed none of it.

Tommy’s stash had been expanded to a crawl space now, and he had no choice but to eat the food he was gifted so it didn’t spoil. Despite his reservations, deep down he loved the food and presents. It proved people still cared, and warding off a panic attack by tearing through an entire bar of chocolate was just a bonus. 

He got away with it for almost three weeks.

It was a cold night when it happened. Cold enough so that he and Dream practically fled to the warmth of the house in Logstedshire after the sun went down, away from the bitter wind. They ate there together, Dream laughing as he told Tommy about the ridiculously slow progress Sapnap was making in improving his sword fighting.

“He makes the same mistakes over and over again,” Dream jeered as Tommy leaned against the foot of his bed. “I tell him not to push an attack when he’s off-balance and the next thing he does is strike when one of his feet isn’t even on the ground. At least when I tell you something, you _listen._ ”

“So you think I’m still gonna beat him?” Tommy said in delight.

“He’s made basically no progress, so probably.” Dream shook his head in amusement. 

Tommy grinned through a yawn as Dream stood up. “I’m going to head back for the night.”

He nodded, and Dream was about to leave when he stopped without warning. His head tilted to the side as he tapped his foot against the ground, right above where Tommy’s secret compartment was. _Hollow._

Tommy’s heart dropped. He scrambled to his feet as Dream drove his foot right through the floorboards. Splinters settled like dust among the food and gifts Tommy had hidden, and Dream stared down at it wordlessly.

Tommy thought about running. 

Dream turned to him, voice deadly calm. “You’ve been hiding things from me.”

“No, I—please—” Tommy scrambled away until his back hit the wall.

Dream shook his head in nothing but disappointment and cruelty. “I really thought you’d _learned,_ Tommy _._ And every time, you find some way to rebel, some way to prove me wrong. Why do you keep forcing me to do this to you?” 

As usual, Tommy’s pleas fell on deaf ears. When he saw the weakness potion in Dream’s hand, he tried to run, only for Dream to shove him backward. Tommy tripped and fell onto his bed, and Dream drove his elbow into his chest to stop him from getting up.

“I’ll give you a chance,” Dream said, closing Tommy’s hand around the potion. “Drink it.”

_You know what comes next._

Tommy held the glass bottle as dread swept over him, so horrible he couldn’t stop himself from shattering it in his hands. Dream sighed quietly, hauling Tommy to his feet and striking him so hard in the bad of his head that his vision went black.

“You could have made things so much easier for yourself,” he barely heard Dream say as he was dragged along the ground. 

“Please,” Tommy pleaded, voice strangled. “I didn’t mean to lie! I won’t—”

A quick strike to his throat, and Tommy’s voice was silenced. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. All that came out was a pathetic, pained whine as Dream dragged him along. 

“Shh,” Dream whispered. “I’m getting tired of your begging.”

Tommy closed his eyes tightly and tried to scream for help, but nothing happened. He wished so badly for Bad or Ghostbur, for anyone—anyone to get him out of this hell. He wanted Wilbur again, he wanted his family back, he wanted everything to stop— 

_Stop—_

_I’ll do anything—_

Tommy couldn’t even speak anymore. He was completely at Dream’s mercy, helpless to fight back. Tears were dripping down his face before they even got to the water, and he clutched at Dream’s wrist in one last plea.

Dream touched his face reassuringly, and then everything was quiet.

Always quiet.

The freezing water was a small mercy; Tommy was numb from it within seconds, and without the drugging effects of the weakness potion, he fought back more viciously than before. Twisting in the water, he grounded his feet in the sand and tried to push himself away from the shore, bubbles streaming from his mouth as he counted the seconds until the pain came. 

Dream retaliated too fast, forearm around Tommy’s throat and knee pinning him to the sand before Tommy could free himself. The panic came then, as the ache in Tommy’s lungs built and built. _It’s almost over,_ he told himself again and again. _It’s almost over. It’s almost over. It’s almost—_

He took a breath, and the feeling of freezing water flooding his lungs was the worst pain he’d ever felt. He would have screamed had he not been able to stop himself from breathing, and breathing, and suddenly it was air instead of cold as Dream hauled him up.

Coughs wracked his body as Tommy vomited water, shaking from head to toe. Dream gave him a few seconds, and— 

“The more you struggle,” he whispered into Tommy’s ear, “the longer this will take.”

His grip tightened, and Tommy was back underwater again.

He drowned three more times before he stopped fighting. 

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Staying perfectly still, eyes closed, hyper-aware of one of one of Dream’s hands around his neck and the other running gently through Tommy’s hair. Everything hurt, everything hurt and hurt and then it was over.

Tommy cried silently as Dream carried him back to Logstedshire, shaking with cold as Dream sat him down by the campfire. Neither of them spoke as Dream held him tightly, hand in Tommy’s hair until he stopped hyperventilating. The crackling of the fire comforted him somewhat, as did Dream’s warmth, but it was a while before Tommy tried to say he was sorry. No sound came out; his voice still wasn’t working.

“Here,” Dream said softly, handing him a regeneration potion. Tommy drank it with trembling hands, the lingering pain in his lungs fading and his voice returning to a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he barely managed to say, and every word hurt. “I—I shouldn’t have lied.”

“I know,” Dream whispered. “But you always say that. And every time, I believe you, but you never learn.”

“Let me prove it,” Tommy begged, arms wrapped around himself. “Tell me how I can prove it—I’ll do anything. Anything.”

"You wouldn't."

"Please," he whispered.

Dream smiled. “Put your hand in the fire.”

Tommy’s heart sank. “What?”

“You're promising you'll listen and obey no matter what. Prove it. Put your hand in the fire.”

Tommy turned wide eyes to the campfire in front of them, nausea sweeping over him. God, he didn’t want to do this, but it was what he deserved and he knew it.

He got to his feet slowly, sitting on the cold ground by the flames. Dream knelt beside him, placing a reassuring hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll even give you healing potions after, I promise. It won’t hurt for very long.” 

“How long?” Tommy asked, mouth dry. His heart was beating too fast in his chest, and where the crackling of the fire had once been comforting, it was now foreboding.

“Not long,” Dream assured him. “I’ll hold your hand in place, if you want.”

Tommy nodded, shutting his eyes tightly and shrinking in on himself as Dream drank a potion of fire resistance. _Oh god, oh god oh god oh_ —

Dream took his wrist lightly, and Tommy didn’t resist when his hand was pulled right into the fire. 

The pain took a second to kick in, and a strangled cry escaped Tommy’s mouth. It took every bit of strength he had left not to immediately pull his hand away, even as he could feel his skin blistering and burning. He was shaking again, shaking so hard he could barely feel the cold anymore. His hand, his hand his hand his hand his hand—

Tommy buried his face in Dream’s shoulder to stifle a scream, hating the comfort it brought him when Dream started stroking his hair again. “Don’t look. You’re doing fine.”

_I want to go home._

There were no words to describe it, how it felt to be kneeling on the ground with his hand in the fire.

It hurt, it hurt it hurt it hurt and then Dream pulled Tommy’s arm back, away from the flames and into the freezing air around them. Tommy expected the agony to ease, but the freezing air against his skin was so much worse that he threw up right there. Bile burned his throat as he cried, wishing he'd jumped into the lava when he still had the choice.

The pain didn’t go away until Dream held a healing potion up to his lips, and Tommy drank it desperately. The last of his tears fell from his face, and all his energy drained away. Dream had to hold him up so he didn’t collapse.

“You’re fine,” Dream said gently. “You’re okay. You did good.”

Tommy took a deep breath. “I hate you,” he mumbled into Dream's shoulder, and he wished it was true.

Dream hummed, letting Tommy hold his own weight so he could stand up. “Come. I want you to watch this.”

Tommy wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep for a week, and the very thought of standing up filled him with despair. Nevertheless, he followed Dream’s instructions, dragging himself to his feet as he held his healing hand against his chest.

Dream was already chipping away at his nether portal’s frame when Tommy caught up, and Tommy was too numb to feel anything, never mind protest. He only watched as Dream destroyed the entire portal, and then followed him to Logstedshire.

The tell-tale smell of explosives met him outside the wooden walls, as was the sound of a match being struck.

What had been home for the past three months exploded.

Tommy felt nothing as the heat seared his face and smoke floated into the sky. Dream turned to him, smiling. _It's over._ No sooner had the noise died down, however, did they both hear a horrified, “What did you _do?_ ”

Bad was standing by the now-ruined portal, sword in hand and appalled stare boring right into Dream’s. “What did you _do_ to him?” he demanded. “What did you—what did you _fucking_ do to him?”

Dream tilted his head, a clear warning. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re a liar, Dream.” Bad spat, striding forward and pulling Tommy behind him as he faced Dream. "He's coming with me. I'm not letting you do this."

“Tommy, come here.” There was no hint of compromise in Dream’s demand.

Thoughts in a daze, Tommy looked between the two of them. Seeing Bad there amongst the ruins of Logstedshire was a harsh, visceral slap in the face, a sudden understanding of the weight of what Dream had done to him. _He drowned me, he hurt me, he_ —

“Don’t listen to him,” Bad warned, the orange tinge of fire reflected in his horrified black eyes as he caught sight of the bruises around Tommy’s neck and arms. “He’s not your friend.”

“Come _here,_ Tommy,” Dream repeated, voice flat. “Now.”

Tommy looked up at him, at the ruins of Logstedshire, at the place that would never be home. In a gesture that took every bit of bravery he had, stepped behind Bad and shook his head.

Dream drew his sword. Bad raised his, a warning that meant little in a fight he couldn’t possibly win. 

Dream looked right at his former friend, empty smile boring into Bad's determined stare. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Bad surged forward and swung. “Tommy, run!” 

The clash of metal on metal snapped Tommy clean out of his trace, and he bolted off into the woods. Away from the fire and chaos, and away from Dream. Heart in his throat, he ran—he ran farther and faster than he’d ever run before, leaving Logstedshire and Dream and all the pain to fade into nothing more than memories. Everything was a daze, the same daze of shock and cold and uncertainty that had seen the start of his exile. Everything had gone so, so _wrong._

Hours passed. Hours passed and Tommy didn’t stop running, ignoring his exhaustion and his panic and his thoughts, fueled by the paranoia that Dream would be right behind him. Time and time again he’d find himself regretting his decision, but it was too late. He’d burnt his bridges; going back now meant a fate worse than death. Dream would not forgive him for this.

 _Not Bad,_ Tommy prayed. _Let him be okay. Let him be okay._

The sky was rising when Tommy’s exhaustion finally caught up to him. His body started giving out, and he had no choice but to resign himself to it. He dragged himself under an overhang by the edge of a spruce forest, a clear view of the sunrise as he slumped against the ground.

Tommy marveled at its beauty for only a few seconds before the world slipped away from him.

Then, nothing. 


	12. Sleeping at Last

**_Sleeping at Last_ **

Long before Bad had drawn his sword, he knew it was a fight he wouldn’t win.

He’d sparred with Dream dozens of times before—always as friends, always for fun, always while training—and now, for the first time, he was fighting for his life.

They circled each other after Tommy had disappeared into the forest, and Bad would have dropped his weapon and surrendered if he didn’t need to buy more time. Some naive part of him still truly believed that Dream would show him mercy, that the friend he thought he knew was still there, buried under the facade that Bad had discovered tonight.

But there was no denying what he had seen. There was no denying what Dream had done to Tommy. 

Dream didn’t even try to diffuse the fight by lying, both of them knowing full well Bad was not the type to be manipulated. “You really want to do this, Bad?” he muttered, never taking his eyes off him. “Drop your sword, and I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not letting you near Tommy again,” Bad hissed through clenched teeth.

“That’s not up to you.” 

It was a brief fight. 

Dream darted forward, and Bad barely managed to deflect his first blow. He was too slow to react to the second, and Dream slashed him cleanly across the leg. Bad yelped in pain, struggling back as blood soaked through his clothes. Dream gave him no time to recover, smashing the hilt of his sword into the side of Bad’s head. 

Bad collapsed immediately, ears ringing and a dull pain spreading into his chest. Struggling for air, it took him several seconds to see clearly again. When he did, he was already pinned to the ground with Dream’s sword against his throat.

The mask’s empty smile looked down at him for several seconds, and what could only be grief swept through Bad. Lines had been crossed they could never come back from, even if he made it out of this alive. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Bad rasped, closing his hand around the arm that kept him down.

Dream shook his head, almost gently. “Of course not.” 

“You’re going to have to,” Bad told him, some delusional hope flaring up that Dream hadn’t fallen too far, that things could be okay again. “You can’t silence me any other way.”

“Of course I can,” Dream said, easing his grip ever so slightly so Bad could breathe easier. His voice was ever so calm, as if everything was perfectly normal. “You mention this to anyone, it’s not you I kill. It’s Skeppy, then Ant, then Puffy—and it’ll be entirely your fault.”

Bad froze, and his heart broke.

“What’s wrong with you?” he pleaded, clutching Dream’s hands. “What’s _wrong_ with you? Tommy’s just a child and I—I was your friend!”

“You _are_ my friend,” Dream promised, shaking his head. “But I’m ending all this—the war, the conflicts, the constant fighting—and this is how. You can’t get in the way.”

Bad closed his eyes tightly, breaths coming in quickly as everything started hitting him at once. Tommy looking up at him with empty eyes, the bruises on his arms and neck, Logstedshire going up in flames, Dream’s threat—

His head hurt so bad from where Dream had hit him, and he was on the verge of passing out.

“What did you do?” Bad whispered almost imperceptibly.

“Don’t worry,” Dream muttered softly, pulling him up to a sitting position so he could check Bad’s injuries. As if they were still friends, as if nothing had happened, as if he _cared_. “Once I’ve finished with this place, and with these people, things can be like the way they were before.”

 _No,_ Bad thought numbly, _t_ _hey can’t._

Tommy awoke with a start.

Sunlight and rustling leaves were all he heard as he lay there on stone and grass, mind empty and head hurting. Everything was okay for those few seconds, but his brief reprieve didn’t last. As soon as he sat up to find himself in an unfamiliar spruce forest, everything came rushing back. Every memory of drowning, of being hit, of his hand burning, of Bad crying out, of Dream, Dream, _Dream—_

Tommy threw up.

Bile stung his throat and his stomach hurt so badly he wanted to cry, but the pain was little compared to fear. Tommy stood up to keep fleeing as soon as he was physically able, despite not having eaten anything for almost a day now. The sun was rising; he’d slept for an entire day, which meant Dream could catch up at any time. 

So Tommy did what he had to do and kept walking, eating nothing but berries and drinking water from the streams he found along the way. Even as patches of half-melted snow starting littering the forest ground, he kept going. Even as the wind grew biting and the air colder, he kept going. Even when there was no more dry ground to stand on, he kept going. 

His hands and feet were numb from snow within the hour, but Tommy had been in pain for so long that it barely bothered him. He was so disconnected from himself that he barely noticed the flurry of snow falling from the stormy sky around him, or how his fingers were tinged the palest shade of blue as he trudged through knee-deep snow. His short-sleeved white and red shirt provided little protection from the cold, and he was half-starved and hurt. 

As night fell, his one coherent thought was, _I’ll die soon in this weather._ He’d fall asleep under the snow never to wake up again, buried beneath white powder forever. No one would find his body. No one would care enough to look.

Did Tommy care?

_Do I care?_

_Do I care?_

He’d lost the strength for that a while ago. Now there was nothing but white and cold and pain and the memories playing in his head. Memories he wanted to forget, memories he wanted back. But his old life was dead; it had died with Wilbur and L’Manberg and Dream.

 _Why not jump into the lava?_ A voice suggested, and it sounded like his. _Why not end things quickly?_

It’d be his one last defiant show—vanishing forever, leaving anyone who still cared to blame themselves. Tommy was in the nether again, staring down at the lava, except dying didn’t require action anymore, only inaction. He was already freezing to death, after all.

All he had to do was stop. All he had to do was sleep. All he had to do was drift away never to wake up again.

_Sleep._

The snow was falling so thickly Tommy could barely see in front of himself. His fingers were definitely blue now, and every step was sluggish and slow. 

_Sleep._

Nothing else existed except the snow, and he was so tired.

_Sleep._

Tommy wasn’t thinking straight when the words came to him.

“I heard there was a special place—” His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely understand himself.

“Where men could emancipate—” What were the lyrics again?

“The brutality and the tyranny of their rulers.”

Memories came flooding back. Wilbur and Tubbo, L’Manberg and home, the drug van, the walls they had built, all of it.

“Well this place exists, you needn’t fret—” Tommy’s voice was stronger now.

“With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, and Eret—” 

“It’s a very big, and all blown up L’Manberg—”

A choked sob escaped him, tears freezing on his cheek as misery finally broke through his apathy. Everything hurt again, everything hurt and Tommy wanted it all to stop.

_Just sleep._

Tommy caught his knees about to buckle, but something kept him from sinking into the snow. Some innate fear of death, some fury at the world, some last morsel of fight left in him that demanded survival out of spite. Dream wanted to break him, and Tommy would ensure he’d never succeed.

Anger, though, was a fleeting motivator.

Tommy lost track of time after a while. He might have been in the snow for an hour or thirty, he’d never know.

 _Just sleep,_ some part of him begged. _Just sleep. Just die._

Tommy fought back out loud merely because he still could. “No.” His breath caught. “No.”

_No, no, no._

A light shone in the distance, snuffled by the snow.

Tommy might have been hallucinating it, but he struggled there anyway. With every step he took, it grew bigger and bigger until it took the shape of a house, a small house with stone foundations and light bleeding out of the windows. 

It looked warm. It looked like somewhere that could be home. 

Tommy was a few dozen meters away when he collapsed, limbs refusing to move. He tried crying out, but no sound came out.

_Get up._

Tommy threw every ounce of willpower into forcing his arms to move. It didn’t work.

_Come on!_

_Come on!_

_“You’re almost there,”_ A familiar voice muttered, almost lost in the wind. Tommy blinked through the snow to see a ghostly silhouette in the near distance. _“Almost there. Just get up.”_

“Wilbur?” Tommy mumbled.

_“Just get up. You’ll be okay.”_

Tommy breathed in the freezing air and with trembling arms, pushed himself to his feet. 

He just had to get to the light, but he couldn’t see it anymore. He couldn’t see anything, he was so tired. It wasn’t cold anymore, either, just calm—so calm he wanted nothing more than to curl up into the snow and drift off. He’d sleep, he’d sleep at last and the world wouldn’t bother him anymore.

_Sleep at last. Sleep at last. Sleep—_

Tommy fell, and did not get up again.


	13. Welcome Home, Theseus

**_Welcome Home, Theseus_ **

Tommy didn’t remember much after that.

Fragments dotted his memory: Philza’s  _ “Holy shit,”  _ sounded a mile away, being gently picked up, blinding light,  _ warmth,  _ his hands and feet hurting so badly he wanted to cry, the sickly sweet taste of a regeneration potion that sent him spiraling into a panic—he remembered shoving someone’s hands away, trying and failing to get to his feet, blacking out, drowning— 

Darkness. Nothing but darkness for a long time. 

It was comforting, just barely. 

Sometimes he’d hear voices. Mostly Philza’s, muttering comfort, encouragement, calm, and sometimes Tommy hallucinated Wilbur’s voice too.

He didn’t think they were real, at first. He’d just passed out after Dream had blown up Logstedshire and everything was a delusion, a dream to calm him down. He’d wake up and Dream would be there again, and Tommy would do whatever he wanted no matter how much it hurt. 

_ Why get up?  _ he thought numbly to himself, eyes closed and oblivious of his surroundings.  _ I should have jumped when I had the chance. _

Footsteps sounded. 

They weren’t Dream’s footsteps, Tommy was sure of that. Not only because he was familiar with how Dream moved—steadily, silently, but also because years had not been enough to muddle his memory of the sound he heard now. The heavy footsteps, the subtle ruffle of feathers and the barest gust of moving air— 

_ Dadza? _

Tommy opened his eyes.

A started breath escaped Philza’s mouth when he saw Tommy awake. “You’re up,” he exclaimed.

“I—” Tommy was having difficulty speaking, and his limbs didn’t want to move properly. He couldn’t even sit up. “What’s wrong with me? Where am I?”

He must have failed to hide his hysteria, for Phil sat beside him with his hands out in front of him, as if trying to calm a scared animal. “You’re okay,” he promised. “You’re safe. Do you—do you remember what happened?”

_ Yes.  _ “Not really,” Tommy mumbled, looking around aimlessly. He was in a small room—an attic, warm and stuffy with a sloped ceiling and wooden floor. Bookshelves ate up the back wall, as well as an enchanting table and a few storage cabinets. Through the gaps in the curtains over two small windows, Tommy caught sight of the flurry of snow still falling outside. 

Phil sighed. “Wil—I found you in the snow outside, almost dead. Hypothermia got you pretty badly, but you’ll be fine.” He lifted Tommy up by the shoulders so he could sit, and Tommy flinched at his touch. “The question is: why in the holy name of fuck were you outside in the snow in the middle of nowhere?”

Tommy didn’t look at him, heart beating far too fast in his chest. “Where am I?”

“You’re fine,” Phil told him. “We’re at Techno’s base, he’s—”

“What?” Tommy shrieked, trying again to push himself up. 

Phil put a hand on his shoulder. “Tommy, it’s okay—”

“Don’t  _ fucking  _ touch me,” Tommy lashed out, shoving his hand away. He regretted the gesture instantly and shrunk back, half-expecting Phil to get mad. “I’m sorry, I—”

_ Act like usual, or he’ll never let you go. _

Tommy straightened up with anger he didn’t feel, putting on a facade as best he could. Acting like his old self came back easy, but there was no telling how Philza would react to it. “There’s no fucking way I’m staying here. No fucking way.” He tried to get to his feet, only for his legs to give out and send him stumbling to the floor.

“He’d never hurt you, Toms,” Phil said evenly, picking him up gently. Tommy almost flinched again when he did so. but Phil didn't notice.  _ Careful.  _

“He’ll never hurt me?” Tommy sneered as Phil set him down. “No wait, you’re right. He won’t. He’ll hurt my friends instead, he’ll destroyed my home, he’ll watch—”  _ He’s watched Wilbur hit me without doing anything. He beat me up so badly I was barely conscious.  _ But he couldn't say that, could he? Philza could never know, could never understand. 

“He’s your brother.” As if that meant anything to either of them. They hadn't been a family for a long time, but Philza refused to acknowledge that. Wilbur was dead at his hands, for fuck's sake, and he really thought things could be alright again? Even Tommy wasn't delusional enough to entertain that. 

“He stopped being my brother the moment he shot a firework rocket at Tubbo’s chest. I’m leaving.” 

Phil shook his head almost sadly. “You’ll be dead within the day.”

_ I don’t care.  _ “I’ll find a way.”

“I won’t let you. I’m your father, I’m not letting you get hurt anymore.”

“I don’t—what do you mean,  _ anymore? _ ”

Phil sighed. He took Tommy’s wrist and turned it over, letting the light reveal the faint bruising lining his skin like a bracelet. Tommy yanked his arm away in a surge of panic, refusing to let Philza confront him. “Where’s Techno?”

“He’s been gone for the past week,” Phil said, worry buried in his voice. “Don’t change the subject. Who did that do you?”

“Fuck off.” Tommy couldn’t breathe.  _ Don’t think about it. Dream’s your friend, you left him, you ran.  _ “I need to get back to Logstedshire. Where’s Techno?”

“I already told you,” Phil said. “He’s been gone for the past week.”

“That’s a shit answer.  _ Where? _ ” Every time he lashed out, Tommy was sure Phil would get mad. When he didn’t say anything for a while, Tommy’s heart sank. He braced himself, but— 

“I don’t know,” Phil said heavily. “He vanished a while ago with his horse. There was blood in the snow outside—I think there was a fight.”

The longer he was up, the harder it was for Tommy to think straight. “Good.”

Phil shook his head regretfully, pulling the blanket over Tommy’s shoulders. “You need rest. I’m going to bring you more regen.”

_ I’ll even give you healing potions after, I promise. It won’t hurt for very long. _

Tommy took the potion Phil gave him without protest, trying not to let his hands tremble. The second the familiar sickly sweet smell wafted into the air, Tommy hunched over and threw up.

Phil watched him with something in his eyes that could only be grief. “Oh Tommy,” he whispered. “What happened to you?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy insisted, voice trembling as he shook his head. “Just—leave. Leave me alone.”

_ Don’t think about Logstedshire. Don’t think about Bad. Don’t think about Dream. _

Tommy tried so hard not to cry, and failed. He pressed his hands against his chest as a choked sound escaped him, misery settling in his chest. A ruffle of feathers, and Philza hugged him close, wings curled around Tommy to calm him down.

Tommy felt like a child again, hugged to sleep after a nightmare. He missed those days so badly—the days when they were still a family, the days when Techno hadn’t fallen so far into violence and Wilbur into madness and Philza into grief. Things could never be like they were before, and even as Tommy started falling asleep, he couldn’t help but see Philza’s injured wings from when he’d tried to protect Wilbur from L’Manberg’s explosion. 

He’d never fly again, Wilbur would never live again, and Techno would never be Tommy’s brother again.

That was how Tommy fell asleep—grieving over everything they’d never get back.

He woke up to voices downstairs. 

Two voices.

Tommy couldn’t make them out, but one of them had to be Techno’s. He tried to get up, only to stumble to the ground with a not so stealthy  _ thump.  _

The voices stopped. 

“Tommy?” Philza called. “You up?”

Tommy hesitated. He could pretend to be asleep, or— “Yeah.”

“I don’t want you to panic, but Techno made it back a few hours ago. He’s here.”

Tommy closed his eyes tightly.  _ Shit.  _ What if Techno sold him out to Dream, or just killed him when Philza wasn’t here? Techno hated him—why had Tommy let Philza convince him to stay here?

“Can you come downstairs?” Philza called anxiously.

Tommy took a deep breath. “Okay.”

_ Just get it over with. _

Tommy pushed himself to his feet, clinging onto the windowsill for balance. It was dark outside, and he was starving.  He almost slipped off the wooden ladder twice as he went down, his hands and feet still numb. It was the first time he’d been downstairs.  Techno’s house was relatively simple, built more comfortably than Tommy expected from his brother. Techno was sitting on the carpeted floor of the back room, boar’s mask always on his face, warming his hands by the fireplace as Philza made food in the kitchen area by a small dining table. 

“You feeling better?” Techno asked gruffly. 

Tommy ignored him, slumping down in an empty chair as Phil gave him some bread. “At least you made it downstairs,” Phil said in a light tone. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“How so?”

Tommy tried to flex his fingers. “Can’t feel my hand. Still cold.”

“Let me see.” Phil took Tommy’s hands. “Your hands are fucking freezing!” he exclaimed. “How—”

“There’s a fireplace here for a reason,” Techno called.

Tommy bristled as Phil gestured towards him. But upon seeing Techno’s stern, almost harsh look, he folded, getting wordlessly to his feet.

_ Put your hand in the fire _ .

Tommy sat by Techno, unwilling to come closer than a few feet from the fire. When he didn’t put his hands close enough, Techno gave an annoyed huff and grabbed his arm. “It’s a fireplace, it’s not gonna hurt you.” As if Tommy was being difficult— 

The second a sliver of warmth touched his hands, Tommy flinched so badly that Techno let him go.

“Tommy?” he asked uncertainly, seeing the stricken look on Tommy’s face. Tommy scrambled back, heart racing in his chest as he fought the urge not to throw up again.  _ Put your hand in the fire. It won’t hurt for very long. _

“I’m sorry, I—” The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. “I’m—I—” His back hit the wall, and he slumped against it silently. “I didn’t mean to—” He’d fucked up again. He’d fucked up again. He’d—he’d— 

_ Traded a smiling mask for a boar’s one.  _

But Techno wasn’t his friend, Dream was. Dream was his friend—Dream cared about him and Tommy had  _ run.  _ He deserved everything that had happened to him.

Techno looked at Phil with the type of uncertainty that said he suspected exactly what had happened—he just didn’t know what to do. Phil sighed, and neither approached Tommy. “Give him space.”

“He has bruises on his wrist,” Techno said, voice deadly quiet—almost so Tommy didn’t hear. “Around his neck, too.” 

Phil nodded, kneeling a few feet away from Tommy. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he suggested, and Tommy didn’t dare say anything against him. Phil helped him up and half-carried him back to his bed upstairs. “Just rest, okay?” he offered gently. 

Tommy nodded to appease him, even if he knew he could never sleep in a million years. Not with the nightmares, not with the memories. He didn’t want Phil to leave him alone here, in the pressing silence and the flickering half-light from the lantern in his room.

He was too scared to ask him to stay. 

Tommy sat on his bed, watching the shadows dance around the walls for a long time. He listened to the two voices talk, and in his muddled state, he thought he heard a third one. A familiar one. But he knew he was just imagining it.

The tell-tale sounds of someone climbing the ladder to his room prompted him to sit up, and to his quiet dread, it was Techno that climbed up instead of Philza.

“What?” Tommy demanded, trying to sound threatening.

Techno merely sat on the floor, and Tommy didn’t tear his eyes away from the boar’s mask. “Those bruises—Dream did that to you, didn’t he?”

_ You know I don’t like it when you lie, Tommy. _

Tommy said nothing.

“Did he hit you?” Techno asked, voice unreadable. He was going to get mad if Tommy didn’t say anything.

“Only when I deserved it,” Tommy mumbled. Techno shook his head, hands clenched as he tilted his head to the side as if he was in pain. Tommy recognized that look—it was the voices again, spurring him into violence, into bloodlust— 

“And the fire?” he asked. 

Tommy said nothing. 

Techno sat with him for a while, neither of them speaking, letting the silence change from hostile to accepting until they were comfortable with each other’s presence. 

Finally, Tommy said, “Are you going to hand me over to him?”

“To Dream?”

Tommy nodded, and Techno drew back as if appalled with that idea.

“Next time I see Dream, I’m killing him,” Techno said simply, and Tommy looked up sharply.

“What? Why?”

Techno looked at him strangely. “Because of what he did to you.”

“He’s my friend,” Tommy said pleadingly. “I shouldn’t have run from Logstedshire, it’s my fault. Don’t—don’t kill him.”

Techno stared at him for a long moment, “Okay,” he finally said, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Tell me if you need anything.”

Tommy watched him leave without saying anything, suddenly struck with the urge to listen in on what he was going to tell Philza. Panic seized his throat.  _ What if he kills Dream anyway? _

Tommy leapt to his feet, rifling through all the cabinets in search of anything he could use. He found potions almost immediately, and one was invisibility. He drank it carefully and watched his arms fade from view.

Climbing down the ladder silently was the hardest part, but neither of them heard him. 

They were mid conversation already, Philza pacing the room as Techno sat and watched. 

“Techno, I gave him regen and he threw up. Nothing I know about potions gives any reason whatsoever for why he’d have that kind of reaction.”

“You’re looking at it wrong. It’s trauma, not medical.”

Phil stopped dead in his tracks. “How in two worlds could regen be a trigger for trauma?”

Techno shrugged. “Dream hurt him, then healed him so he could do it again.”

Silence. 

Philza inhaled sharply. “That sick bastard,” he lashed out. “That fucking—”

“I’ll return the favor for you,” Techno promised. “I owe him a favor myself, actually, so I can always slit his throat when he comes to try and collect it.”

Tommy’s heart sank.  _ Techno lied.  _ He could almost hear Dream saying,  _ See? They’re not your friends. You should never have left. _

Tommy shut his eyes tightly, fighting the urge to cry.  _ I shouldn’t have left. _

But he’d made it here, hadn’t he? That meant he could survive going back.

He could survive going back.

Once the idea got in his head, it wouldn’t leave. It bugged him to the point where he started pacing around his room, torn. The question wasn’t even of the risk of his survival, he didn’t care about that. No, the question was if he was brave enough to face Dream after running away, and what Dream would do if he went back.

_ You know you have to. You know it’s selfish to stay.  _

Dream could die if he didn’t. Techno would kill him, and it’d be entirely Tommy’s fault. Tommy might have been scared, but he wasn’t nearly selfish enough to cause his own friend’s death. He owed Dream everything, including a warning.

Tommy scoured the room for anything he could take. Fire resistance potions numbed cold somewhat, so he grabbed all of those and tied them up in the blanket, along with food Philza had brought up for him. After drinking one of the fire resistance potions, along with invisibility, he snuck out as silently as he could.

The bitter wind stung his skin as soon as he slipped through the door, but he ignored it. He had a vague sense for where Logstedshire was, but all that mattered was getting past the snow and to the forest. He could find his way from there, especially if he found the ocean.

With the potions and food, he could make it. Tommy knew it was dangerous, that he was being stupid and reckless and irresponsible, but he had stopped caring about his own health for a while now. He hadn’t jumped in the lava before, but given the circumstances and the opportunity, he still would. He wasn’t even afraid of himself for it.

So he ran. 

He didn’t make it far. Twenty or so minutes later and hoofbeats followed, catching up quickly. Tommy broke into a run, and after ignoring Techno’s yells, splashed invisibility onto himself. Techno, ever so ruthless, leapt off his horse and tackled him before he could take another step. They crashed into the snow, and Tommy’s struggling came to nothing, just as it had with Dream.

“Let me go!” he yelled, thrashing for all he was worth as Techno dragged him back. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Techno said calmly, barely out of breath.

“Why not?” Tommy demanded. “Why do you care if I die anyway?”

“You’re my brother.”

“You’re not mine,” Tommy spat, and Techno sighed. “You stopped being my brother when you almost killed my best friend.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t still care,” Techno told him. “You’re going to die out here.”

“I wouldn’t have left if I cared.”

It’d been a long time since Tommy had heard pain in Techno’s voice, and it almost scared him to hear it now. “So you don’t care about dying?”

Tommy shook his head, giving up on fighting against Techno’s hold. “I’m not leaving anything behind anyway. Tubbo doesn’t care about me, Wilbur’s dead—why does anyone care if I’m gone?”

“I care. Philza cares.”

Tommy’s words were bitter with pain. “I wouldn’t have spent months alone in exile if you did. You’re only helping me now to save your conscience.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. I’ll get out of your hair, just let me go—let me go back to Logstedshire.”

“To Dream?”

“At least he cares about me.”

“He’s lying to you,” Techno pleaded. “He doesn’t care about you. He’s the reason you’re this way.”

Tommy laughed for the first time in a while. “You’re a liar, you know that? You told me you wouldn’t kill him and then tell Philza you’re planning to anyway. You tell me he doesn’t care and you do, but who was the one to help me during exile? Who was there after I lost everything? Who was there to stop me from killing myself?”

Techno didn’t answer.

“Who?” Tommy demanded. “Who stopped me from falling into lava? Who talked me out of committing suicide and kept me company and  _ cared about me? _ ”

Techno was silent for a long time. “Let’s go home.”

“I don’t have a home,” Tommy said simply, and he was crying through his smile. “You destroyed it.”

Techno didn’t let go of him the entire way back.

“Why were you gone for so long?” Tommy asked a few hours later.

Techno had dragged him back to the house, and after Philza had fussed over him for an hour, he’d been sent right to bed. Except this time, he wasn’t left alone for a single moment.

Techno was sitting on a chair across from him, reading a book as Tommy stared at the ceiling. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

“I do.”

Techno closed the book. “Your friends back in L’Manberg tried to execute me. Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy, that weird tall one...”

That was definitely not what Tommy had been expecting. “For releasing those withers?”

“Yep.”

“Good riddance.” But deep down, he was quite shaken. Tubbo had tried to murder Techno? That wasn't the Tubbo he remembered at all. _That's the Tubbo that exiled you._

Techno shook his head, smiling. “They would have succeeded, too, but I had a totem of undying.” His smile faded. “Still, being crushed to death and then brought back: not fun.”

Tommy gave a careless hum as Techno looked at him sadly.

“Listen, Tommy,” he began. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

“It’s a bit too late now, innt?”

“I know.”

Another stretch of silence.

Tommy said, “Don’t tell Philza what I said to you, please. He’ll probably have a heart attack or some shit.”

Techno exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “No, he just wouldn’t let you out of his sight ever again. He never really recovered from what happened to Wilbur, and seeing you like this has been really hurting him.”

“Doesn’t show it much, does he?”

“He doesn’t know how. Or what to say to you that won’t just make things worse.”

“That’s a shit excuse.”

“Is it?” Techno asked. “It never occurred to me that fire could set you off, but it did. We don’t know what else Dream did to you, and you won’t tell us.”

“I ain’t telling you because you’re going to kill him if I do.”

“He’s not your friend.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“He hit you.”

“And so what?” Tommy said flatly, staring up at the ceiling. “I deserved it.”

“Nothing you did ever made you deserving of being abused.”

Tommy sat up to look at him. “You’re such a fucking  _ liar,  _ Techno. I don’t even fucking believe it. What, have you just forgotten Pogtopia and Wilbur already? You  _ watched  _ Wil hit me and leave me crying stuck under a piston door freezing through the night and did jack _ shit _ . You beat me til I was half-conscious because I was mad you almost murdered my best friend!”

Techno shut his eyes tightly. “And I regret that.”

“Fuck you.” Tommy slumped down on his bed and closed his eyes, pulling his blanket over himself to snuff out the light. 

“Fair enough.”

It was never fair enough.

Three days passed. 

Tommy stayed in his room most of the time, almost always watched by either Techno or Philza. There wasn’t much for him to do but try and read Techno’s books, sleep, or talk—but talking always came around to Dream and what he had done.

The late night conversations usually started with Techno and Philza trying to convince him that Dream was an awful person, and usually ended with Tommy and Techno yelling at each other. And then the next day they’d wake up and have breakfast together like nothing happened, a small dysfunctional family pretending nothing was wrong and everything was perfectly the way it should be.

Tommy didn’t really get better, but he didn’t get worse, either. The more time passed, the more comfortable he felt with Techno’s presence, even if they had their rocky moments. So much so that he’d let Techno hug him to sleep after he’d woken up crying from nightmares.  During the times he was alone, though, Tommy thought of Logstedshire and Dream and Tubbo and everything that hurt. It was a self-destructive thing to do, but it made him feel better. He’d stare at the ceiling and drift off into thoughts and listen to the two voices downstairs—he still heard a faint, ghostly third—and try to fall asleep.

He never succeeded.

Three days passed peacefully, but the fourth did not.

There was no warning, to time to prepare, no time for Tommy to brace himself. He and Techno were playing games in the living room late in the afternoon when Philza burst into the house, out of breath and sword drawn. “Dream’s coming.”

Tommy shot to his feet. “What?”

“I was chopping wood and saw him in the distance. Tommy, there’s more invis potions upstairs. Get up there.”

Tommy was frozen to the spot.  _ Dream’s here. Dream’s here.  _

Techno drew his sword with a deadly look in his eye as Philza grabbed Tommy’s arm to drag him upstairs. “You two hide; me and Dream are going to have a  _ conversation. _ ”

A cold, _familiar,_ cruel laugh sounded from right behind Tommy, and terror rooted him in place. “No, no, no you won’t, Techno. I will.”

Techno and Philza weren't at all surprised, but Tommy turned, heart dropping. 

Standing behind him in his ghostly ash-stained brown coat and beanie, hair swept carelessly over one eye as he turned an explosive over in his hands, was Wilbur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I've been thinking of creating a discord server to talk about Dream SMP stuff and this (and other) stories. I've gotten a lot of really positive comments and I want to thank you guys for all the feedback!   
> If you're interested in joining the server, lemme know in the comments and I'll make a decision whether or not I wanna do this.  
> Y'all are awesome.


	14. Remember Us

**_Remember Us_ **

Ghostbur’s time in Logstedshire had given him a lot of time to think about his past, and there was nothing he hated more than self-reflection. 

At first, he was alright. Constantly letting himself be distracted from his brother’s plight through trivial means, wandering off, changing the subject whenever he found himself getting upset. Getting upset was out of the question, as whenever it happened, Ghostbur would find a deep-rooted, seething  _ fury  _ buried deep inside him that wasn’t his—and he was scared of it so, so much.

He didn’t know where that anger came from. Maybe from his past, from Alivebur, but Alivebur was gone. Ghostbur had killed him when he’d buried his bad memories so deeply they’d never resurface again. At least, he hoped—the longer he stayed in Logstedshire, the less sure he was that Alivebur was buried deep enough.

Tommy was the tipping point. Finding him injured and crying on the ground, seeing him bend to Dream’s will, seeing him break just a little bit every day—that stirred up something Ghostbur never wanted to let surface. Whatever remained of Wilbur Soot couldn’t stand by to watch it happen. 

_ “I lied to Dream and he got angry. I deserved it,”  _ Tommy had said after Ghostbur had found him bruised and beat up. That was one of the tipping points, and it took so much from Ghostbur to stamp out Wilbur’s anger that his head felt like it’d been split in two.

Ghostbur did what he always did: he changed the subject. He fled back to L’Manberg, dreaded going back, and stayed away from Tommy for longer and longer each time. 

Tommy had pleaded to him once: “You can be Wilbur again, can’t you? You can remember us?” Ghostbur had ignored him out of fear.

“Please,” Tommy had begged. “Remember us. Come back.”

The last time Ghostbur came back, Dream was destroying Logstedshire as Tommy watched. He remained invisible as he approached his brother, scared to make a sound. There was no more light in Tommy’s eyes, and his hand was burnt and skin blistered.

Wilbur saw the bruises on his younger brother’s wrists, his neck, and snapped.

_ Remember us.  _

Ghostbur died with Logstedshire. He didn’t die easily—he fought the whole way, fleeing into the woods in a last-ditch attempt to stop Wilbur from returning. It was far too late by then. When he looked at his reflection in the same river where Tommy had been drowned, it was Wilbur that stared back: Wilbur, with his old brown coat tattered by war and beanie on his head. Wilbur, cursed with every memory of the family and home he’d lost. 

From that moment on, he never left Tommy’s side. 

Tommy couldn’t know it, of course. Considering Pogtopia, Wilbur’s presence was the very last thing he needed. And, if Wilbur was being honest with himself, he was scared—ashamed, really—of confronting his brother again.

He’d hurt Tommy the most by leaving, and here Tommy was: abused, lost, wandering the snow waiting to die. It was just as much Wilbur’s fault as it was Dream’s, and that hurt. But where Ghostbur had run from pain, Wilbur relished it—so when Tommy fell into the snow mere meters from safety, unable to move again, Wilbur was there to save his life. He'd gone into Techno's house and found himself face to face with the very person that had driven a sword through his chest. 

The look on Philza’s face upon seeing him again was one Wilbur would never be able to describe. Grief, surprise, shock, guilt, relief—Will gave him no time to process it before cutting in. “Tommy’s outside. He’s going to die if you don’t help.”

“Will—”

“ _ Tommy needs you _ .” 

Phil had shaken his head around to clear his thoughts, and nodded. “Where?”

Wilbur brought him outside to where Tommy lay motionless in the snow, chest rising and falling ever so slightly. 

Philza’s heart had broken again, right then and there, as he picked up his frostbitten and half-dead son and carried him inside.

Their first real conversation was by Tommy’s bedside, and Philza was at a complete loss for words. “You’re back,” and the question was barely there, buried beneath shock. 

Wilbur nodded, just once. “I can’t tell you how.” Implying— _ I don’t know how.  _ But he did, he knew exactly how. Ghostbur had been a coward—scared of confrontation, scared of anger, scared of death. He’d tried to kill Wilbur and failed. 

Phil reached out to grasp his hand, but it passed right through Wilbur’s. “You’re still dead.”

“I’ll always be. It’s okay.”

Philza nodded, trying not to cry. 

Techno’s reaction was expected: as apathetic as he could make it. “You’re back.”

“Tommy brought me back. Or, well, Dream did.”

Techno chuckled. “Fear’s the greatest motivator.”

He hadn’t missed the mark with that observation. Wilbur was back not just out of anger, but from fear of what would happen to his family if he didn’t. Fear of what Tommy would become, of what Dream would do, of the wars that would be fought. But as Wilbur looked over his broken family, he had the strangest urge to laugh until he couldn’t breathe.

Somehow, plagued by the most awful circumstances, the four of them had found their way back to each other again. In a house that could be home amidst a desolate snowstorm, all with their own grievances and injuries. 

They weren’t a family yet, but they could be.

Alive or not, Wilbur would make sure they would.

Ghostbur had said this, regarding death:  _ Dying is like...like you’re traveling down a long road, and suddenly the road ends and you can’t see your family anymore. _

It was true, in a metaphorical sense: Wilbur could see and hear his family, and they could see and hear him, but that was it. This was what death had cost him: warmth. Wilbur would never be able to ruffle Tommy’s hair affectionately again, or hold him when he cried, or hug Philza when he came home like he always did when he was a kid. He was alone, and it was hell. 

Ghostbur had wandered without that anchor of family for a long time, soaking up his sadness with blue and denial. Wilbur would not do the same. He’d found his anchor: Tommy. And he would go to the ends of the world to ensure Dream would never hurt his brother again. 

_ “You two hide; me and Dream are going to have a conversation.” _

_ “No, no, no you won’t, Techno. I will.” _

Wilbur would fix the mistakes he had made in Pogtopia. 

The snow didn’t so much as stir as he walked atop of it, straight to the green-clad figure waiting for him in the distance. 

Dream shifted backward ever so slightly as he and Wilbur faced each other, the only giveaway that he was uneasy. “Wilbur,” he acknowledged. “I see you’ve changed since the last time we talked.”

“Ghostbur had a bit of a crisis after witnessing what you did to Tommy,” Wilbur said easily, letting his every terrible intention show clear in his voice. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Dream’s head tilted to the side, undaunted. “I expected Techno. He owes me a favor.”

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, yeah, the favor. He gave me a message to relay about that: he’s repaying it by not coming out here to slit your throat and watch you bleed out onto the snow. Careful, though—he’ll definitely do it the next time he sees you. We wouldn’t want Tommy to have to watch his  _ friend  _ die, would we?” He spat out those last words. 

Dream tossed one of his daggers from hand to hand. “Let me talk to Techno.”

“No. I’m not letting you near Tommy again.”

Dream laughed harshly. “I see. So you’re the only one allowed to hurt him, now?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed.

“He told me about that, you know,” Dream said, shaking his head in amusement. “About what you and Techno did to him in Pogtopia.” He shrugged in mock disappointment. “Who knows? Maybe if he hadn’t been used to being hit by you, he’d have reacted the right way when I did it.” 

He caught his dagger in one hand, gesturing. “You know what surprised me the most?” Dream continued viciously. “How  _ easy  _ it was to get him used to being hurt. How little it took to convince him I was his friend, that this was right for him.”

The words were meant to hurt, and they did, but the ghost only smiled. “If there’s one thing being dead has brought about, it’s perspective. We’re not alike; I know what I did was shit, but you...it’s all a game.”

“Well,” Dream said, walking right through Wilbur and towards the house. “Maybe it is a game. But I’m not done with Tommy.”

He stopped when he heard a match being struck.

Wilbur held a stick of dynamite loosely in his hand, lighting the fuse as Dream watched. “See,” Wilbur said, “there are some advantages to being dead.” He stepped closer to Dream as the fuse started burning down. “Let’s see if it’s still a game when you’re dead, too.”

They had seconds left. Wilbur expected Dream to run; he only smiled. “Really?”

“I’m promising this. You come near Tommy again and I’ll fucking follow you to the end of the world. I won’t stop until you’re as dead as I am.”

Dream looked him in the eyes and grabbed the stick of dynamite, holding it inches from both of them as the fuse burned. “Let me make you a promise of my own,” he offered, voice deadly quiet. Something flashed gold in his hands—a totem of undying. “This is what’s going to happen if you let this go off. I’ll find Tommy and drag him somewhere so far away you’ll never find him again. And then—” he smiled, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll take days to kill him.” 

They faced each other, nothing but howling wind between them. Wilbur said nothing—he had nothing to say that wouldn’t be admitting defeat. Techno was still recovering from his execution, Philza wasn’t a fighter, Tommy was in a fragile state as it was—none of them could protect him from Dream. 

By Dream’s voice, he knew he had already won. Nevertheless, he leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll make Philza watch.”

Wilbur let go of the stick of dynamite. 

Dream laughed carelessly and tossed it away to be snuffed out by the snow, sheathing his daggers and turning to leave. “Remember that, next time you try and threaten me.”

Wilbur watched him walk away. Once he was sure Dream was gone and wouldn't be coming back, he let out a uneasy breath and walked back to the house to face his family. 

It was time he spoke to Tommy again. 


	15. Blood Ties

**_Blood Ties_ **

No sooner had Wilbur left to confront Dream, Tommy fled upstairs with Philza. They’d both drunk invisibility potions and Tommy had curled up in the corner, trying to make himself as small as possible.

Some twisted part of him  _ wanted  _ Dream to find him, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was too busy reeling over having his brother back. 

“He’s not Ghostbur anymore,” Tommy whispered to Philza, voice small. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Phil said, reaching out to grasp Tommy’s arm comfortingly. “He’ll take care of this, don’t worry.”

And Wilbur had. Not ten minutes later, the door creaked open and Techno called, “It’s safe to come down.”

“Let’s go,” Philza said, but Tommy refused to get up. He was just as scared shitless of Wilbur as he was of Dream, and if Wilbur wanted to talk to him, he would start the conversation himself. Tommy didn’t owe him shit.

Phil didn’t push him. “I’ll bring you some milk to counter the potion.”

“Don’t bother.” Tommy liked being invisible—it brought him a certain sense of safety he didn’t know he’d been craving. “I’ll be fine.”

He’d just sit and listen to their voices until the world saw fit to throw something his way.

Said something turned out to be Wilbur, several hours later in the dead of night. Tommy didn’t hear him coming; the ladder didn’t creak and his footsteps made no sound. Wilbur knew he was awake, though, and Tommy looked up uneasily.

As they faced each other from across the room, Tommy tried so hard to figure out what he was feeling.

Wilbur was here. Not as the shell of himself Ghostbur had been, actually here. Standing on solid ground, still partially transparent in his ash-stained coat and beanie. He looked just as he had before he died, and it made Tommy’s heart hurt so much. 

The silence stretched.

“Hey, Tommy,” Wilbur said quietly. 

“You’re back.”

Wilbur nodded. Tommy didn’t protest when his brother sat on the bed beside him. In fact, he might have curled up against Wilbur’s shoulder if he could.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot, lately,” Tommy commented, voice empty.

“Not enough.”

Tommy shook his head in frustration. “You know I don’t need  _ pity. _ ” 

“No. You need help.”

Tommy laughed shortly, all his resentment showing in his voice. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I know, I know. That doesn’t change anything.”

Tommy nodded, thinking to himself in the silence that overtook the room. “You know," he said, "I get mad at Techno a lot for destroying home. I should really be mad at you too, shouldn’t I?”

Wilbur nodded. “Why aren’t you?”

Tommy said what he knew would hurt. “I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason I want to go back to Dream.”

Wilbur shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. His hand drifted up to Tommy’s shoulder, only to pass right through it. Tommy knew he should feel bad, considering his brother was in as bad as a place as he was, but he’d lost sympathy for his family a while ago. Everyone treating him as if he was fragile was pissing him off, especially because they were responsible. He should be worse—he should have abandoned Philza and run straight to Dream when he’d come looking for him. 

But he hadn’t. Even if he should know by now that blood ties were worthless. And despite everything:

“I miss you,” Tommy said, voice dry.

Wilbur shifted back to lean against the wall, staring at Tommy with a look Tommy couldn’t place. “You don’t seem surprised to see me back. I was dead.”

Tommy stared at the ceiling again. “You still are.”

“Not entirely,” Wilbur said with a crooked grin. “Come on, where’s the Tommy I knew before? You would have screamed curses and insults at me until your voice was hoarse.”

“Maybe that Tommy was a bad person, have you considered that?” Tommy snapped.

“You were never a bad person. Sure, you were an annoying little fucker, but I always loved you for that.”

And again, Tommy found himself compelled to say the things that hurt. “You didn’t love me for it in that ravine in Pogtopia.”

“I’d lost my mind by then.”

“And how do I know you won’t again?”

Wilbur shrugged, staring out the gap in the curtains and to the snow beyond. “I know what’s important now.”

Tommy stared at the ceiling for a long time, and neither of them moved.

“You don’t sleep much anymore, do you?” Wilbur finally said.

“No.”

Wilbur sighed and got to his feet. “I’ll be back.” Tommy watched him leave rather curiously, but he didn’t move from his bed. 

Wil was back a few minutes later with his old guitar, and Tommy looked at it curiously. 

“Philza kept it after I died, apparently,” Wilbur explained, settling down beside him. “Remember when we used—”

“Yeah.” Tommy said numbly. “I remember.” 

Wilbur smiled. Tommy listened to the notes he plucked as he tuned the guitar, and soon, a familiar melody floating through the empty air.

Wilbur played a song, and suddenly, they were kids again—staying up together in the middle of the night when one of them had nightmares, Wilbur strumming along as Tommy used to try and sing with his off-key, cracked voice. Eventually they’d drift off and Phil would find them curled up against each other in the morning, sleeping peacefully without a care in the world, and he’d pick them up and carry them back to their rooms.

_ What happened to us?  _

Tommy started crying then. He cried until his eyes stung and his throat hurt, he cried until tears were dripping onto his pillow. And through blurry vision, he saw Wilbur crying too, tears staining his face a dark, glowing blue as they trickled down his face.

That was how they drifted off to sleep: together, and crying.

Tommy awoke to the smell of breakfast wafting through the air.

Wilbur and Techno were already downstairs when Tommy climbed down the ladder, and both were looking all-too-grumpy. “What’s going on?” Tommy asked warily.

“Family breakfast!” Philza said cheerfully from the counter. “We haven’t had one with the four of us in...what, five years now? It’s about time.”

“This is not ending well,” Wilbur muttered under his breath, shooting a look at Tommy and Techno.

Phil heard him. “Please?” he asked. “Just bear with it without arguing.”

Techno shrugged. “Fine.”

Tommy slumped in his seat, arms crossed. “Can you at least take that stupid pig mask off?” he grumbled to Techno.

“No.”

“We’re your fucking  _ family—” _

“I said no.”

Phil set a platter of fruit and eggs down, and Tommy cringed at the sight. It was too normal a meal for the four of them to have any right to share. “Tommy, please,” Phil reprimanded. “Leave Techno alone.”

“Fine.”

They ate in dead silence.

Finally, Phil sighed. “Guys, please.”

“You said ‘without arguing’,” Techno reminded him. “That doesn’t entail starting a conversation.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “You three are impossible. You’re siblings, for heaven’s sake. Get used to each other.”

Tommy glowered, but he quieted when Wilbur gave him a warning look. Still, he was the first to get up, clear his plate, and hide back in his room.

Even then, something was nagging him, some anger he couldn’t shake. Soon he was pacing around the silent room, throwing the curtains wide open to look at the snow beyond and glaring daggers at his reflection in the windowsill. 

He wasn’t alone for long.

“I think I know what’s wrong with you,” Techno said from halfway up the ladder, and Tommy wheeled around. “You’re restless.”

“And so what?”

Techno sighed, and Tommy bristled at his patronizing tone. “I’m offering an olive branch. You wanna take it?”

Tommy thought about it for a second. “Fine. It’s not like I got anything better to do.”

He followed Techno wordlessly, catching the coat and gloves Techno tossed him. Together, they stepped out into the snow.

The storm had stopped, and the landscape before them was painted a beautiful, unbroken white that sparkled under the sun. Tommy’s breath caught as he stared at the view, inhaling the cold wind while he could. 

Techno gave no thought to the scenery, trudging through the snow and leaving Tommy no choice but to follow. They stopped by a cliffside, and Tommy watched with mild curiosity as Techno lifted a heavy metal trapdoor out from under the snow. A ladder hung beneath, and Techno beckoned him into the space below.

A massive cavern had been ever-so-neatly dug out from the stone, stretching far, far above their heads. Most of the space was empty, lit by torches and lanterns, and a weapons rack hung carelessly by the base of the ladder. “This is where I train,” Techno told him as Tommy gaped at the sight. “You need to blow off some steam. You’ve been cooped up for days now.”

“‘Cause you guys won’t let me outside,” Tommy muttered pointedly, but he caught the practice weapon Techno tossed at him. 

“Rightly so,” Techno replied. “Sword up.”

Tommy obliged, and they starting sparring. 

Techno went easy on him the first round. Too easy—Tommy came dangerously close to disarming him with a move Dream had taught him, and the look on Techno’s face was well-worth giving away that he’d been training since the last time they'd practiced together.

“Who taught you that?” Techno demanded, sounding almost impressed as they both lowered their weapons.

“Dream,” Tommy said flatly, and Techno tensed up.

“He’s been training you?” It wasn’t a question.

“To pass the time,” Tommy said. “Just like you are. Forget about it.”

Techno looked at him for a few silent seconds. Tommy half-expected him to comment: he only said, “Sword up.”

Techno didn't go easy on him after that.

An hour passed, and Tommy was feeling much better. Unfortunately for Techno, feeling better more or less equated to feeling the urge to be annoying, and although exile had beaten the spirit out of him somewhat, old habits died hard.

“What is it with you and that fucking pig mask?” Tommy asked in between duels. “Have you taken that thing off in the past five years?”

Techno ignored him. “Sword up.”

Tommy thought to himself:  _ one does not simply ignore Tommy.  _ So he did what he was best at and pissed his brother off, half-hoping Techno would lose his cool and just hit him or something. 

After the fifteenth snarky comment about the mask, Techno finally snapped. 

“Why do you even care what I look like?” he demanded, sword tip waving in the air.

“I don’t.”

“Then why do you keep nagging me about it?” Techno snapped. “Can you even give me a single good reason spare for you just being annoying for the sake of it?”

Tommy fell silent for a short while, suddenly realizing the comment was from a place far less trivial than 'being annoying' . “I can’t trust you.” 

“My mask should’ve nothing to do with trust.”

“For me, it does.”

“Really?” Techno said, voice thick with sarcasm. “And why is that?”

Tommy stared up at him. “You and Dadza and Wilbur—you’re all always saying: you can trust us, we’re family, don’t trust Dream, Dream hurt you—”

“Dream never takes off his mask either,” Techno sneered.

“Yes,” Tommy said simply, “He does. He did for me.”

Techno didn’t say anything for a long moment. Tommy waited for some apology or admission, something to make it alright.

“Sword up,” Techno said. 

Tommy was back in his room later that afternoon when Philza came to see him.

“I talked with Techno earlier,” Phil said casually.

“‘Course you did,” Tommy said crossly. “Am I gonna get a lecture about trust, now? Or are you gonna tell me for the fiftieth time that Dream’s not my friend and continue doing nothing to prove it?”

The pained look in Phil’s eyes suggested he knew something Tommy didn’t, but Tommy ignored it.

“No," Phil said gently. “I wanted to tell you that no one’s holding it against you for not trusting anyone. Techno has a shit way of showing it, so you’ll have to excuse the lack of communication, But…”—he hesitated— “I want us to be a family again. I know it’s asking a lot, but… try and trust us, if you can. Just try. That’s all I’m asking.” 

Tommy didn’t say anything. Mostly out of petty sullenness, but also resentment. He was getting tired of being treated as if he was damaged, as if it was his fault that he couldn’t trust his family when they went through none of the notions to prove to him he could.  They didn’t trust him to begin with, after all. Tommy couldn’t even go outside without supervision and he was excluded from so many late-night conversations they didn’t think he knew took place. There was no trust there.

_ Just try.  _

Phil shook his head after a while and stood up. “I’mma be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Tommy watched him leave, suddenly exhausted.  _ Do I trust them? Do I not?  _ Techno had sacrificed his entire afternoon to help him, Wilbur had sung him to sleep like he did when they were kids, Phil had saved his life and given him a place to go and been endlessly patient with him. The four of them were family, however fucked up. Surely their blood ties meant  _ something.  _

Tommy was getting tired of figuring out what he owed and what he didn’t, so he just flopped down in bed and closed his eyes to rest as the sun set. It was snowing gently outside, but the sky was stained a brilliant orange and pink that bled into his room. Caught in childlike fascination, Tommy sat at his window to look at the snow glitter and distant trees sway gently in the wind.

He felt alright, then. Not necessarily happy or content, but alright enough to smile at the sky and let his thoughts drift off without fearing where they would go. He almost dozed off, but Wilbur called him from downstairs. “We’re eating!”

There was a little less silence this meal around, and an actual conversation the next day. A week passed, and Tommy was comfortable enough to joke around with Wilbur and annoy Techno, without pushing him too far. Small routines were established: Wilbur brought his guitar upstairs almost every night, Techno trained him whenever he had the time, and Phil kept on dragging them over to eat together, snuffing out any potential arguments before they started. Tommy made a joke—which were rarer nowadays—and they all burst out laughing, Wilbur near tears. 

After that, Tommy finally talked more. Maybe annoyingly so, but he was almost like his old self. He'd forgotten how fun Techno was to bother, and the second his brother started insulting him back,  Tommy felt like things were starting to go back to the way they were before.  It was almost trust, what formed between them. They were almost a family again. 

It didn’t last.

Two days later, Tommy woke up to find Phil gone without a trace.

Techno and Wilbur were already downstairs when he realized, and the fury written all over Wilbur's face scared Tommy to the bone. He'd never seen his brother like that.

Even if he was almost too frightened to say anything, his curiosity got the better of him. “Where’s Dadza?”

“Left for a few days,” Wilbur said stiffly, not looking at Techno. “Searching for totems of undying. He’ll be back soon.”

The blatant, blunt lie shocked Tommy so much he didn’t even confront either of them about it, disappointment withering in his chest as he stepped back. “Okay—” he said shortly. “I’ll be upstairs.”

The silence only lasted until he was gone. 

Philza was still missing two days later, and Tommy was getting sick of hearing Wilbur and Techno scream at each other. For one, he was decently sure he wasn’t meant to be hearing their conversations, and two, he couldn’t fucking sleep with all the noise they were making. 

He missed Phil. The house was a little scarier without him, even if the three of them could sustain themselves perfectly fine. They'd lost the peacekeeper, the mediator. And Wilbur and Techno were caught in a vicious fight that happened away from Tommy's eyes and ears.

Something had happened. Something awful had happened and nobody ever told Tommy a single thing about it. 

_ Try and trust us,  _ Phil had asked, so Tommy tried not to listen in to their arguments. But his brothers were so loud that he heard them without even trying. 

“—have to accept reality,” Techno was saying. “We can’t win this. There’s no point trying.” 

“You know, I always thought of you as the type to actually fight for what you care about,” Wilbur sneered. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You’re not wrong. But I’m also someone that recognizes when a battle is lost.”

“So you’re just giving up?” Wilbur exclaimed.

“I’m cutting our losses,” Techno hissed. “You know there’s no other choice.”

Tommy shut his eyes tightly and hugged his pillow over his face, drowning them out.  _ Try and trust us,  _ Philza had asked, and so Tommy tried his best. When the arguing only escalated, he grabbed his sword and pushed it right off his nightstand, letting it clatter loudly to the floor in a  _ clang  _ easily audible from downstairs.

The voices cut off immediately, but Tommy still slept restlessly that night.

It would have been far kinder if he hadn’t.

Tommy was still awake hours later to hear the tell-tale creak of someone ever-so-quietly climbing the ladder. Tommy pretended to be asleep by instinct, but from the footsteps and breathing, he was decently sure it was Techno.

Techno’s voice was almost imperceptible in the silence, and so shattered Tommy’s heart began to race. “I’m sorry, Theseus.” That was cause for alarm: Techno was the very last person to resort to apologies that weren’t meant to be heard. He’d never be a coward that way unless— 

A small pop sounded: the cap of a potion being unscrewed. 

_ Try and trust us,  _ Phil had said, and Tommy knew he should never have. 

His heart plummeted to his chest as he bolted upright, but he was too late. Techno forced the weakness potion down his throat before Tommy could shake off his exhaustion and fight back, holding him down on the bed as Tommy struggled against him. Only when Tommy had swallowed the entire potion, did Techno release him, knowing the fight was done.

Nevertheless, Tommy rolled sideways and off the bed, struggling to his feet. The potion had taken effect before he could step forward, and crawling along the floor did little when Techno scooped him up like he was still a little kid. “You’ll be okay,” Techno muttered under his breath, and Tommy clung to him desperately, mind muddled. He leaned his head against his brother’s chest in a silent plea, but Techno didn’t react.

_ He knows I hate potions,  _ Tommy thought, tears trickling down his face through blurry vision.  _ He knows, he knows, he—  _

_ What’s happening?  _

The worst part of weakness potions was that Tommy was still conscious when the downstairs light blinded his half-open eyes. He was still conscious to hear Techno’s vicious, “Here’s your fucking  _ favor.  _ Tell me where he is.”

He was still conscious to hear Dream’s cold, measured laughter.

That was it. 


	16. Hope

**_Hope_ **

Tommy woke up to a blinding light in his eyes.

After so long spent in the half-light and stillness of Techno’s attic, the rustling of trees and chirping birds was as disorientating as the sunlight. The morning air froze his lungs as he breathed, and the familiar rain-stained white canvas above his eyes only served to confuse him more.

Tommy tried to rub his eyes, only to find one of his hands bound tightly with rope that chafed at his wrists. Only then did he remember what had happened, and the realization dawned on him abruptly.

_I’m in Logstedshire._

_Techno gave me up._

Tommy drew in a startled breath, sitting up to find Dream’s bag—and his mask—lying on the ground in his tent. He stared at the empty smile, dread settling in his chest. 

Dream was going to be so furious at him.

Tommy pulled at the rope around his wrist fruitlessly. It was no doubt there so that Tommy wouldn’t flee as soon as he woke up, even if the last thing Tommy wanted to do right now was run off. Where would he go, anyway? Techno had betrayed him. The home he'd started to make for himself was gone. 

Quiet footsteps sounded from behind him.

Dream’s eyes were bright in the half-light and face unreadable. Tommy shrunk back, entirely expecting to be hit or yelled at or ignored— 

Without even saying a word, Dream sat down and pulled him into a hug.

Neither of them moved for several seconds. 

“You’re not…mad at me?” Tommy asked uncertainly, almost afraid to relax. Everything was flooding him at once: dread, resentment, apprehension, mind-numbing terror—but overwhelmingly, a sweeping sense of _relief._

“Of course not,” Dream assured him, no trace of anger in his voice as he undid the rope around Tommy’s wrist. “I overreacted and you were scared. You could have died and—” his voice caught— “It would have been my fault.” 

Tommy took a deep breath as the dread in his chest eased, and he realized how much he missed just being held. Chest hollow, he buried his face in Dream’s shoulder, unable to tear his mind off Wilbur and Techno and— 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“It’s okay,” Dream muttered, hand resting on Tommy's head. “All that matters is that you’re here.”

Tommy rubbed his eyes, struggling to shake off his exhaustion. He was so tired and warm and empty—if only he could just sleep until everything was better.

Dream let him sit in silence, giving Tommy time to sit back and sort things through. Once Tommy was calm again, he finally asked: “How did you even get them to let me back?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dream said gently. “Techno owed me a favor.”

“Yeah, I…” Tommy hesitated. “I heard him say something about that.”

Dream nodded, tapping his finger on the edge of his mask. “The L’Manbergians tried to execute him a while back, I’m sure he told you about it.”

“Yeah. Rightly so—he set withers on us.”

Dream smiled bitterly, caught up in his own recollections. Tommy could tell he was hurt too, it was written clearly on his face. “I gave him a map to a totem of undying a few days before, and then helped him escape.”

“You saved his life?” Tommy asked curiously.

Dream nodded. “Hence the favor. He didn’t keep it at first, and Wilbur tried to kill me when I went looking for you. So…” Dream hesitated. “I suppose we were both betrayed.”

“They kept telling me you were a horrible person,” Tommy whispered, curling in on himself. “Treating me like I was irrational, like I was damaged.”

“Did they believe it?” 

Tommy blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Did they believe what they were telling you? That I was a horrible person?”

Tommy thought about it for a little bit: he recalled Techno’s appalled tone, Philza’s heartbroken look, Wilbur’s fury. “Wholeheartedly.”

“And yet Techno handed you over to me. I told him you would have come with me willingly, but you were half-conscious and drugged when he brought you downstairs. He didn’t even say goodbye, did he?”

“None of them did. Dadza—Philza wasn’t even here.” Tommy hated how his voice cracked. “It shouldn’t hurt, but it really does.” Even Techno, who was as apathetic as they came, had been too much of a coward to face him. Tommy hugged his arms to himself as Dream looked at him sadly. “I tried to trust them and—”

“Aren’t you angry?” Dream asked him.

“No.”

Dream shook his head, eyes shut in pain. “What did they say to make you incapable of even being mad?” he muttered, almost to himself.

Tommy shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I guess I deserve it for running away.”

“No, no you don’t,” Dream told him. “But it’s okay—you’re here now. You’re safe.” 

Tommy nodded, but the hollow feeling in his chest didn’t go away. Dream saw the look on his face and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“We were a family again,” Tommy said plainly, in almost childlike upset. “I thought things could be normal, but now I’m back to square one. Tubbo’s abandoned me, Philza just vanished, Techno and Wilbur betrayed me—what am I supposed to do?”

Dream looked thoughtful for a few seconds. “Remember, back before Christmas, I told you I’d let you go back to L’Manberg so we could try and fix things?”

Tommy nodded.

“Tubbo’s holding a festival in a few days, and he invited me. Do you want to come?”

Tommy looked up. “Really?”

Dream smiled. “Almost everyone should be there except Techno and Philza. We can talk to Tubbo again, see what’s changed. Maybe he’ll let you back.”

The smile that split Tommy’s face was tinged with much more uncertainty than joy. “Does he even want me back?” 

“You’ve known each other for so long, of course he should.”

Tommy fought the urge to reach for the compass that once hung on his chest, still uncertain. He missed Tubbo and L’Manberg so bad, but what if he didn’t want Tommy to come home?

Was L’Manberg even home?

Tommy’s breathing came faster as he realized he didn’t even know where home was anymore. It wasn’t Techno’s house, it wasn’t Logstedshire, it wasn’t L’Manberg—what if Tommy screwed up at the festival and doomed himself to his campsite forever? What if he spent the rest of his life rotting away in exile until he killed himself?

“Tommy?” Dream asked quietly, and Tommy realized he was staring blankly at the wall, hands gripping the side of his bed so hard his fingers were white. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” The words wouldn’t leave his mouth. “What if—I—”

Dream reached out and took his arm. The simple gesture was enough; Tommy clutched Dream’s hand and collected himself.

“What if I can’t go back?” he managed to say, voice choked. “What if something goes wrong, what if I screw things up? What if I have to live here forever?”

“You won’t have to,” Dream promised, pulling Tommy closer so Tommy could curl up against him. He threaded his fingers through Tommy’s hair, and Tommy’s breathing slowed. “You won’t have to stay here, I promise.”

Tommy closed his eyes. “Okay.” The dread in his chest eased, and calm overtook him. Suddenly things didn’t seem so scary anymore. A familiar warmth filled his chest— it was a strange feeling, one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope. It was hope.

The next three days passed in a strange, liminal-like limbo, Tommy’s mind focused solely on the festival. He sparred with Dream to pass the time and to exhaust himself out of his anxiety, and their little back-and-forths brought a relief he’d been craving for a while. 

Even if Tommy was expecting the entire time to fuck up somehow and force Dream to hurt him again. Even with the remains of Logstedshire as a constant reminder, they'd slipped back into their old routine as if nothing had happened. As if Tommy had never been gone. 

“I don’t know why I’m this nervous,” Tommy confessed, picking his sword back off the ground after Dream had disarmed him. Almost jokingly: “Is this normal?”

Dream laughed. “You didn’t leave on the best terms, so yeah.” He dashed forward and swung, and Tommy blocked his blow easily. A quick flurry of metal clashes, and Tommy leapt back. 

Out of breath, Tommy asked: “Have you told Tubbo I’m coming?”

Dream shook his head as they circled each other, and Tommy guessed he was smiling behind his mask. “He’ll probably like the surprise. He asked after you yesterday.”

Tommy’s face lit up. “Really?”

Dream took his distraction as a chance to attack again, but Tommy kept up with him nonetheless. “Of course. I’ve been on good terms with him and L’Manberg for weeks now. They’ll be delighted to see you.” 

They were reassuring words, but Tommy barely slept the entire night before the festival. He hadn’t seen Tubbo in months—what would he say? How would he react? Would he be happy? Mad? 

A dozen scenarios ran through his head, a dozen conversations and outcomes that made him sick with worry. In some, Tubbo rushed forward to hug him and they’d say they missed each other, and Tubbo would plead for him to come back to L’Manberg. In others, Tubbo would give Dream a hostile look and demand why he’d brought Tommy here, and Tommy would flee back to his campsite and never leave again. 

Conversations, conversations, yet Tommy was struggling to even remember his friend’s voice. Only the painful words were left: _“The discs don’t matter—I’ve made my decision—I’m so sorry, Tommy—”_ and Tommy didn’t like remembering those. 

By the time morning came and Dream stepped through the portal to bring him to L’Manberg, Tommy was so restless he didn’t stop talking the whole way, saying whatever came to mind in a flurry of nervous words. Occasionally, Dream would laugh and he’d catch his breath— 

—he saw the nether hub and fell into a dead silence. Rooted to the spot, Tommy could only stare at the swirling purple of the portal until Dream put a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine,” Dream said encouragingly, but Tommy barely heard him.

Dream sighed. He dug through his bag and pulled out a potion. Tommy’s heart dropped in his chest, but Dream simply handed it to him. _Invisibility. It's just invisibility._ “Drink this,” he offered. “Just go through the portal and see how you feel. If you’re not sure you want to confront Tubbo, then go back to Logstedshire.”

Tommy took it wordlessly and drank, watching his arms and hands vanish from view. “Thanks,” he managed to say, holding the glass bottle tightly in his hands as he followed Dream to the portal.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy took a deep breath and stepped through, out of the nether’s searing heat and into the sunlight beyond.


	17. The Festival

**_The Festival_ **

Tommy blinked into the bright light, stepping softly onto the cracked blackstone of the nether spawn. Dream stepped out from behind him, and Tommy followed him toward L’Manberg silently. _I'm back._

_I'm finally back._

A strange nostalgia spread through Tommy's chest as he looked around, memories flooding back as he stared at each and every building he passed. The wooden path that spread through the SMP looked no worse for wear despite the time that had passed, and Dream stopped in the community house to make sure Tommy was still following.

Invisible as he was, Tommy couldn’t help but hug his arms to himself in a futile attempt to make himself smaller. If only he could silence his footsteps entirely, or just float around and vanish like Ghostbur could. Then he’d never have to face the world again, not unless he wanted to. He'd just wander around L'Manberg forever, caught in child-like fascination of the place he'd once called home. 

Tommy followed Dream towards L’Manberg, drifting off when they got closer to look at the drug van someone had recreated.  _ Everything started here.  _ Everything had started with the blackstone wall they’d built around an echo of a nation, and war had shaped stone they’d placed. Time and time again, L’Manberg was re-built over a crater of what it’d once been, Tommy couldn’t help but feel like they lost something important every time.

Everything had started with blackstone walls and ended with obsidian ones. 

Tommy perked up when voices rang out in the distance—laughter and cheering and excited chatter. He scurried forward towards the party island and to the figures in the distance, only for his attention to be drawn right back to Dream.

For Tubbo, Quackity, and Fundy were walking up the path towards him, all warm smiles and welcoming looks. 

Tubbo. It was Tubbo right there, in his president’s uniform with his hands clasped almost shyly behind his back. Tubbo,  _ Tubbo—  _

Tommy almost ran to him right then and there. Something rooted him to the spot again—a buried fear that Tubbo did really hate him, that there was no fixing things to the way they were.

He walked forward slowly, hoping no one noticed his imprints in the grass as he approached his old friend. Tubbo looked a little older than Tommy remembered, and his voice held more weight when he spoke. “Dream,” he acknowledged, bowing his head in greeting.

“Quite the welcoming party,” Dream noted casually, eyeing the three L’Manbergians closely. 

Tubbo smiled disarmingly. “You’ll have to forgive me for that. Fundy wasn’t whether you’d uphold our laws.”

“I said I would, and I did,” Dream said graciously. True to his word, he didn’t have his armor with him. 

_ Do I reveal myself?  _ Tommy thought anxiously, never taking his eyes off his friend’s face. 

If he hadn’t been so transfixed on Tubbo, he might not have noticed the way Tubbo’s smile was too tight, how he held himself too stiffly, that every word was said deliberately, carefully when he thanked Dream and led him towards the festival. He might not have noticed Fundy and Quackity flanking Dream from behind, giving each other silent looks.

He might not have noticed the knife clutched in Quackity’s hands.

Quackity and Fundy nodded to each other, and in abrupt horror, Tommy connected the dots just in time. With a surge of desperation, he shrieked and tackled Fundy out of the way just as the fox dashed forward to stab Dream in the back.

Pandemonium erupted. Tommy fought to grab the knife from Fundy’s hands as they struggled in the grass, both of them yelling themselves hoarse. He barely registered the sounds of another scuffle: Dream, Quackity, and Tubbo not far away. 

Invisibility gave him a crucial advantage, and he pinned Fundy down and pried the dagger from his grip. Fundy screamed for help, struggling with everything he had, and Tommy didn’t hear Tubbo’s footsteps in time before pain erupted across his face. 

Tommy shrieked in agony and scrambled away, blood dripping down his face and into his eyes as he clamped his hand over the slash across his face. Tubbo drew up short, dagger stained red and face twisted in shock, but Tommy sprung to his feet and stumbled away before they could capture him. 

Through blood-stained vision, Tommy found Quackity and Dream still wrestling with each other. He couldn’t help much, but a badly-timed kick to Quackity’s side gave Dream just enough time to free himself. Tommy’s invisibility was wearing off, just in time for Dream to grab him and throw a pearl.

Just before they vanished, Tommy locked eyes with Tubbo from across the wooden path. Tubbo’s face was frozen in shock; Tommy’s, bruised and bloodied.

Tommy had nothing to say, but he was sure the betrayal he felt must’ve been clear on his face. Tubbo stepped forward, hand extended, mouth open in a silent plea before Dream’s pearl landed and he was gone.

Dream stumbled as soon as the ground under their feet changed, and Tommy had to take his weight so he didn’t fall entirely. Through shock and muddled thoughts, it took him a few moments to process the blood dripping from the gaping stab wound in Dream’s side. 

_ Shit— _

Dream pressed an ender pearl into Tommy’s hands, gasping for breath. He coughed blood before speaking, and Tommy stared at him with wide eyes. “Throw it…the portal…”

Tommy pressed his sleeve against his face to clear his vision, blindly reliant on his sense of direction as he threw the pearls. 

Two pearls later, and Tommy was half dragging Dream into the nether. The stifling hot air and metallic, overwhelming smell of blood did little to help, but Dream pried open an enderchest nearby and pulled healing potions and his weapons out. The wound was bad, and the potions wouldn’t be enough, but it’d last him until they reached Logstedshire.

“Here,” Dream croaked, handing Tommy his bow and sword. “We have to—” He took a deep breath, some of the clarity coming back into his eyes. “—go. Now.” 

Tommy pulled him to his feet. “We can make it to Logstedshire, but we don’t have much time before they—”

“Not Logstedshire,” Dream panted. “They’ll find us.” He pointed down another bridge, and Tommy didn’t argue. He splashed fire resistance down at their feet and took off down the precarious path, Dream’s arm around his shoulder so he didn’t fall into the lava. 

It wasn’t long before the path ended entirely, and Dream pointed towards a red warped forest not far away. “There.”

Tommy was grateful for the red; it’d hide any blood trails they left. Considering Dream could barely walk and Tommy’s vision was blurry from blood, it was one less thing to worry about. 

A ghast’s piercing shriek rang out from above them, and Dream barely pulled Tommy aside in time to avoid the fireball that tore up the ground where they’d been standing. Dream ducked under the cover of a red tree as Tommy drew his bow.

_ Remember what Dream taught you. _

He released his breath, aimed, and brought the ghast down with one arrow. 

“Nice shot,” Dream croaked, but he wasn’t smiling. His face was pale and drawn, and Tommy was getting worried he’d bleed out before they make it.

“We’re almost there,” Tommy assured him, spotting the gleaming purple light of a portal up ahead, tucked hidden in the middle of the red forest. 

Cold, bitter wind bit at his bloodied face when helped Dream through. They’d emerged on a small plateau in the midst of an ocean-bordered mountain range, sunlight blinding their eyes among shards of rock and patches of short, yellow grass. A cliff face stretched out above them, and the sky was clear for miles on out.

It was a stunning view, and Tommy didn’t care. 

_ D _ _ ream could die.  _

Dream led him to a small lever hidden in the rock face, pulling it down to trigger a simple piston door. Only when they had stepped through and locked it behind them did Dream finally slump to the ground, face pallid and pale.

Tommy took a careful breath, looking around for anything he could use to help. They were in a small well-lit hallway he could only assume was Dream’s home, buried beneath the mountain. It was simple, but carefully-built: lights hung from a low arched ceiling, the dark oak floor was free of scratches, and the walls were adorned with old weapons and relics. Tommy recognized some, like the sword that had broken in the war between Manberg and Pogtopia and the little tag labelled  _ Spirit  _ that Tommy had stolen from him before he was exiled.

Several smaller rooms branched out from the entrance, and a spare set of armor hung from a stand by a rack of weapons, along with an unsheathed bow, a trident, and a shelf of potions and emergency supplies. Tommy took the medical kit and a few regeneration potions and brought them over to Dream, who was sitting up against the wall.

“Here,” Tommy said desperately. “Is that enough?”

Dream gestured to one of the side rooms. “There’s running water in the bathroom, and I need something to clean off the blood.”

Tommy nodded and darted off.

It didn’t take very long for Dream to treat his wound, and he was on his feet a mere half an hour later to sort through the rest of his potions and emergency supplies. He was still struggling to walk, but he'd be fine. 

Hopefully. 

“You’re bleeding through your bandages already,” Tommy said anxiously.

“I’m fine,” Dream assured him. “I need to take care of your injuries, too.”

“Not, it’s—” Tommy insisted, reaching for the med kit, but Dream caught his wrist before he could take out the bandages. “Tommy, stop,” he said affectionately. “You’ve done enough. I’ll be fine, and if you haven’t noticed, your face is covered in blood.”

Tommy went still, suddenly unsure what to do. “Okay.”

Dream shook his head in quiet amusement. “Sit.”

Tommy slumped down against the wall, heart finally slowing down. But without the haze of his panic to distract him, the slash across his face started stinging like hell. He couldn’t even see the injury, but he could feel that his skin was split badly. 

Dream sat beside him, cupping Tommy’s chin with his hand so he wouldn’t move as Dream cleaned the blood off his face. Tears welled up in Tommy’s eyes, but he blinked them back.

“Is it bad?” he asked, almost imperceptibly.

Dream nodded, smiling sadly. “What happened?”

“Tubbo cut me with a dagger after I tackled Fundy,” Tommy said, feeling numb as he hugged his arms to his chest. This, this was so much worse than anything he could’ve imagined. The look on Tubbo’s face when he had seen Tommy—and the blood on his hands—wouldn’t be leaving Tommy’s mind anytime soon. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop Quackity,” he said heavily. 

Dream’s hand stilled, almost in surprise. “Tommy, you saved my life.” When Tommy didn’t react, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair out of Tommy’s eyes. “You did everything right. I guess…” he shook his head. “I should have seen it coming. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“They really just tried to murder you, didn’t they?” Tommy said, still working through his shock. Something was flaring up in his chest—something close to anger. “Even Tubbo. He used to be so kind—”

Dream sighed. He looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it. He handed Tommy a healing potion and watched him drink it all, looking lost in thought. “We’ll be okay,” he promised.

Tommy nodded, but he was having a hard time believing it. Every string to his old life had been cut away from him, and it was then he realized he didn’t really know anyone anymore. His family had betrayed him, given him up to someone they believed to be horrible. Tommy had kept his promise to Tubbo, despite everything, to never become like Wilbur, only for Tubbo to break his promise in return.  _ He’s become Schlatt.  _

Everything he had was gone.

Two hours later, Tommy found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, an empty bottle regeneration in his hands. The gash across his face stretched from his forehead to the side of his temple; had Tubbo aimed a little lower, Tommy would be blind in his left eye. 

He hated looking at it. He hated looking at himself. 

The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like him anyway; it was too scarred and damaged, and the unhinged look in his eyes didn’t feel right.

_ Tubbo did this,  _ Tommy thought, glaring hatefully at the reflection in the mirror.  _ Tubbo did this. Tubbo did this, Tubbo attacked us, Tubbo was going to kill Dream, Tubbo, Tubbo—  _

The glass bottle shattered in his hands. 

By the time Dream found him, Tommy was screaming his fury at the bathroom’s lifeless walls until his voice gave out. There were no words exchanged between them, but the look on Dream’s face matched his own.

“Are you angry, now?” Dream said quietly.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, voice hoarse. “Yeah, I am.” Everybody had left him. No, not left him—discarded him, tossed him aside as soon as he was bigger of a problem than they bothered to handle. Tubbo had exiled him, Techno had lied to him, Philza had vanished, Wilbur— 

Wilbur had hurt him, betrayed him, destroyed his home, and sat by as Techno had repaid his  _ fucking  _ favor. They weren’t family anymore, they hadn’t been for years but Tommy had been too fucking stupid to see it. Nobody cared about him, but it wasn’t Tommy’s fault anymore. Dream had taught him enough for him to recognize that.

“I can’t even look at my own reflection anymore,” Tommy said, pressing his hand against the scar on his face like he could rub it away if he tried. But he couldn’t, and it’d never go away, and he’d live with the reminder forever. Everything _hurt._ When would it fucking stop? When would the world decide Tommy had hurt enough?

Philza would have given him empty reassurances. Dream gave him a solution, digging through his bag and handing Tommy a mask just like his own. “I have this, if you want it.”

Tommy didn’t say anything, mostly out of surprise. The longer he stared at the mask’s smile, though, the more he felt right with the idea. It was a decision out of loyalty, out of spite—but when Tommy put on the mask and stared at himself in the mirror, he found himself unquestionably delighted.

Dream smiled when he saw him. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, and a weight in his stomach dissolved. “Yeah, I like it.”

“What are we gonna do?” Tommy asked, voice steady as he stood in Dream’s study a while later. Papers, compasses, and scripts were scattered around the small, lantern-lit room, many of which he couldn’t even read. A few were in languages he’d never even seen before, and they piqued his curiosity more than he’d care to admit. 

Dream was looking over a map as he thought. Tommy could tell he had a plan, and commented: “L’Manberg can’t be trusted anymore, and Eret...he doesn’t answer to you.”

“He will,” Dream promised, eyes cold in the harsh light. “I’m going to take this entire world back: L’Manberg, Dream SMP, the Badlands—all of it.” He drove his dagger right through the festival invitation Tubbo had given him. “I’ll get every fucking person under my command. And then,”—Dream’s smile as empty as the one on his mask—“There’ll never be war again. We’ll all be one, happy family.” 

He turned to Tommy, who was watching him wordlessly. “You’ll help?”

Behind his mask, Tommy smiled.


	18. Before

**_Before_ **

Dream’s plan took three days to carry out, and Tommy was by his side the entire time.

Neither of them were even fully healed when they went to the SMP lands together, ignoring the turmoil-bound L’Manberg and going straight to the ominous black structure filling up the ocean behind Bad’s house. 

“What is this?” Tommy asked breathlessly as he stepped up to the entrance, a smaller obsidian-cast building laden with blackstone and quartz. 

“A prison,” Dream told him, an unfriendly smile splitting his face. “One Sam and I built. It’s inescapable.”

“Nowhere’s inescapable.”

“This is,” Dream promised. “The L’Manbergians and anyone else who resists us can learn from their mistakes here. Eret will be easy to deal with, and Techno…”

“You’re in no shape to fight him.”

“I don’t need to be,” Dream said simply. “His attachments make him vulnerable, just like the L’Manbergians. What I need from you, though, is Tubbo.”

Tommy drew back, surprised. “You’re just gonna lock him up?” he asked, out of more curiosity than concern. 

Dream nodded, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “He won’t be harmed, none of them will. This is the better way, considering he tried to murder us both.”

Tommy nodded, eyes narrowed as he stared the prison down. “What do you need me to do?”

Tubbo was considering burning his uniform.

He’d been staring at it across his room in L’Manberg for the better part of yesterday, toying with the idea. With each day that passed, it became clearer and clearer that he’d never been the right person to lead a country. He was too easily swayed, too easily intimidated, and Tommy had paid the price for both flaws.

_ I should never have exiled him  _ came to  _ I should have never tried to kill Dream. _

He just couldn’t learn, could he?

Tubbo tossed his uniform aside the second he returned home, shoulders tense and a lingering dread in his chest. He’d considered just giving up the presidency to Quackity or Fundy, but it wasn’t right—not when one of his mistakes was listening to them. The consequences of Tubbo’s decisions would be his to deal with, not theirs. 

Distracted as he was, he almost didn’t see the single scrap of paper lying on his table. Tubbo’s heart clenched when he recognized Tommy’s hasty, almost unreadable scrawl, and he picked the paper up with trembling hands. 

_Need your help._ _  
__Escaped Dream he’ll kill me if I reveal myself._

_ —Tommy  _

Below, a scrawl of coordinates, blotted with ink stains that had bled through and onto the oak table. Like it had been written desperately, in a hurry.

Tubbo knew it could be a trap, but there was no mistaking Tommy’s handwriting. Tubbo owed that risk to his friend anyway, especially after the festival.

He couldn’t forget the look on Tommy’s blood-streaked face, the hurt in his eyes just before Dream pearled them away. God, he’d screwed up so much. 

Tubbo went to the coordinates alone. Not as the president of L’Manberg, but as Tommy’s friend.

Map and compass in hand, he trekked through the forest for almost an hour. Despite his armor and weapons, he felt undeniably vulnerable in the stillness. 

The sun was setting when Tubbo finally reached the coordinates, and a cold wind rustled the dark spruce trees above him. He checked his map yet again and determined he was at the exact coordinates, but the place was deserted.

“Tommy?” he yelled out, voice echoing around him.

Ever so calmly: “Hey, Tubbo.”

Tubbo spun around, relief flooding him— 

Until he saw the mask.

A blinding pain and the smell of a weakness potion, and there was nothing.

Tommy watched his former best friend crumple to the ground, shock written on his face, and felt only pity. He sheathed his sword and shoved away the glass shards of the splash potion with his foot so Tubbo wouldn’t get cut, smiling sadly behind his mask.

Tubbo looked peaceful sleeping, and a surge of affection ran through Tommy. “You’ll be okay,” he promised his friend, even if Tubbo couldn’t hear him. “Me and Dream will make everything peaceful again, and you won’t have to be president anymore.” He picked Tubbo up as carefully as he could and started walking through the woods towards the prison. “It’ll be just the two of us fooling around again, like old times.”

It was a long walk, but Tommy didn’t mind. He wasn’t cold with his armor and Tubbo curled up snugly against him, the rustle of branches in the dark breaking the silence he hated so passionately. He’d gotten stronger after training with Dream, and Tubbo was so much smaller and lighter he barely felt the strain of carrying him.

Sam was waiting for him at the prison’s entrance, face stoic and trident clutched firmly in his grip. He nodded acknowledgement and led Tommy through the nether portal and into the prison. “Armor and weapons in the locker.”

Tommy set Tubbo down in a corner, carefully brushing a strand of hair out of his friend’s face when he stirred. Once Sam had searched him for any items, Tommy was allowed to take Tubbo into the prison, past the vault door, and into the row of holding cells beyond.

They were simple cells, but sufficient: a cot, bathroom, desk, books, and a clock in each, along with locked dispensers for food. Dream had been right in saying this was the best option they had—the prison hadn't been built with cruel intentions. Tommy sat Tubbo down on the cot and let Sam do the rest, more and more certain he was doing the right thing.

Upon stepping out of Tubbo’s cell, he was surprised to notice that not all the other cells were empty. Philza was in another, wings clamped together and head bowed from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. He looked up to see Tommy, and abrupt shock flashed across his face. He leapt to his feet and surged forward, but Tommy couldn’t hear him yelling through the sound-proofed glass.

Head tilted, Tommy smiled, even if Phil couldn’t see it through his mask. After so long cooped up in Techno’s attic, having their positions switched was quite satisfying. 

Phil’s horrified eyes never left Tommy’s mask, but Tommy didn’t so much as acknowledge him.  _ They’ll thank me for this soon. _

Even as Sam led him out of the prison, Tommy could tell by his stance and face that he was unsettled by the mask. Dealing with one empty smile was likely bad enough, but two?

_ We’re going to have so much fun,  _ Tommy thought to himself, finally allowing himself to indulge in some of the anger that had built up inside him in the past months. There was something so freeing about being able to say  _ fuck taking the high road  _ and just do what he wanted, and Dream knew exactly how to exploit every vulnerability they could. “That’s the problem with people,” he’d told Tommy. “Attachment. It makes them easy to control.”

As instructed, Tommy went straight back to their base in the mountains and waited for Dream to deal with the rest of the L'Manbergians. Tommy wasn’t privy to his plan, but he didn’t particularly care. 

Dream wasn’t back until almost midnight, and Tommy was almost worried before he saw the smile on Dream’s face when he arrived.

“Everything went fine?” Tommy asked, sitting up from where he’d been leaning against the wall of the small storage room they’d repurposed as his room. It was a small place, and he didn’t have many belongings to fill it up with, but there was something cozy about the flickering light of the lanterns. It wasn’t home yet, but it could be.

Dream nodded, mask in his hands as he looked at Tommy almost proudly. “Quackity and Fundy are dealt with. And since everything went to plan,”—he reached into his bag—''I have something for you.”

He pulled something out of his bag, black and gleaming in the light.

Tommy’s discs.

Tommy stared at them in shock, taking them in numb hands and turning them over. His own reflection stared back at him, stained orange by the warm light of the lanterns, and the look on his face held far less grief than he felt.

The discs were relics now, as old and tainted with nostalgia as Dream’s old weapons and items. By-gones of a kinder time, where everything had been a little less consequence. The war they’d waged over those discs felt like little more than a skirmish now, a prelude to what came next they hadn’t foreseen.

“I thought you’d like them back,” Dream said quietly. “For the memories, you know?”

Tommy nodded, clutching them to his chest. “Thank you.”

Dream sat down beside him, and by the look in his eyes, he was caught in the same regret. “Things were better back then, weren’t they?”

“What happened?” Tommy muttered. “How did we fall so far into war for things like this?”

Dream shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know. But…”—he paused— “That’s the endgame for us both, isn’t it? To bring things back to the way they were before. If it takes a prison and hostages and manipulation to do it, then so be it. I’ve tried every other way.”

Tommy turned his discs over in his hands, trying not to cry. “A lot of that’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Dream shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe some of it’s mine. All that matters is that we’re going to fix things for good.”

Tommy nodded, exhaling slowly as he traced his fingers over the scratches and lines on his discs. 

“For what it’s worth,” Dream said gently, “I’m glad you decided to help me.” 

Tommy nodded, still clutching his disc as he leaned against the wall. The silence stretched on for a few moments, until Tommy asked:

“Dream?” 

“Yeah?”

“You think attachment’s bad, right?” he asked hesitantly. “That it's too easy to control people with it. But you gave me my discs back, you cared about Spirit and you have all those old weapons,” —he gestured at the walls— “How is this different?”

Dream sighed. He was silent for a bit, and Tommy could tell it was something weighing his mind. “It’s not attachment to items that’s the problem,” he finally said. “It’s attachment to people.” He looked down at the dagger in his hands. “People are unreliable. They use you, they betray you, they lie and you want to forgive them for it anyway. Even items are used against you, it's always by people you trust.” He gestured as Tommy looked down. “You know that. It’s happened to you enough.”

“Yeah. Wilbur and Tubbo and Techno…” Tommy drifted off. “I guess you’ve shown me that.” He laughed dryly. “I was a pretty messed-up person before exile, wasn’t I? And I’d still be if it wasn’t for you.”

“Maybe, but…I’m sorry I went to the lengths I did,” Dream said, genuinely regretful. “I hurt you worse than I should have.”

Tommy shrugged. “It’s like you said—we do whatever we have to. Nothing else works.” He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, yawning.

Dream smiled, holding out his arm so Tommy could lean against his shoulder. It was warm in Tommy’s room, and he was exhausted. 

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” Tommy mumbled, eyes closed. 

“We’re dealing with the SMP lands,” Dream said, voice low and soothing. “Sapnap, George, and Punz will come with us to Eret’s castle, and we’ll sort things out with him.” He smiled when Tommy yawned again. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tommy nodded, and Dream stroked his hair absent-mindedly as silence fell over them. In the stillness and half-light, it was easy for Tommy to let his thoughts drift off into nothing. He felt better than he'd had in a long time, and finally having something to work towards gave him clarity he didn't usually have. 

Not long after, even Dream went still as exhaustion claimed them.  Within a few minutes, they were both sound asleep.

Unbeknownst to them, they were closely watched by a ghost with bitter eyes and an ash-stained brown coat, floating invisible in the shadows of the room. 


	19. Puppets on a String

**_Puppets on a String_ **

The community house was quiet in the early hours of the morning, and Sapnap turned his sword over in his hands as he waited. Deep in thought, he barely noticed George and Punz approach from the direction of Eret’s castle, armored up with weapons in hand.

“Is Dream here yet?” George asked, voice quiet in the stillness, and Sapnap snapped back to the present to shake his head.

“No. The sun’s not up yet.”

_ At sunrise,  _ Dream had told him yesterday.  _ Be at the community house with George and Punz. I doubt Eret will put up a fight, but be ready for one anyway. _

Under different circumstances, Sapnap would’ve been against Dream's plan to bring everyone under their control. But there was no better motivator than seeing his best friend so badly injured, and by people that had been allies no less.

He trusted Dream to make the right call.

Footsteps sounded from behind him—two pairs, which Sapnap had not been expecting. Not only that, but the very last person he expected to ever help Dream was trailing behind him, an identical mask hiding his face from view.

_ What the fuck? _

“Tommy?” Sapnap muttered in disbelief.

The kid was wearing a spare set of armor and fully geared up with weapons, but Sapnap didn’t tear his eyes from the mask.

“It’s a long story,” Dream said easily, an explanation Sapnap didn’t accept at all. “He’s with me now.”

Sapnap looked over at George, who looked uneasy but stayed silent as usual. He never spoke much these days, despite whatever he and Dream had going on. Punz couldn’t care less, but Sapnap couldn’t shake off his shock.

He hid most of it.

The last he’d seen of Tommy had been in exile, more docile and calmer than Sapnap remembered him.  _ He didn’t curse once,  _ Bad had said in shock, and Sapnap hadn’t seen his friend since then.

_ Something’s up here. _

Sapnap didn’t like secrets kept from him, but the deeply unsettling atmosphere that settled over them kept him silent. He trusted Dream with his life, but… 

Dream and Tommy took off for Eret’s castle, and Sapnap had no choice but to follow. He listened to Dream and Punz talk with each other, somewhat uneasy. 

“The Badlands are handled,” Dream was saying as Punz listened. “We outnumber Eret’s knights, and I’ll be dealing with Techno soon enough. Anyone else you think might be a problem?”

“No one unified,” Punz said flatly. “We might have to deal with a few here and there—Ponk, Purpled, Jack Manifold, Niki, but I don’t see them putting up much of a fight.” 

_ They’re really taking everything into account, aren’t they?  _ Sapnap didn’t join them, preferring to watch the ever-silent George trail closely behind Dream as they approached the castle. 

Eret was expecting them, it seemed. Flanked by Puffy and Hbomb on either side of the throne, both geared and ready for a fight, he sat upright and eyes sharp. 

“Dream,” he acknowledged, bowing his head as they entered the throne room. His eyes flickered to Tommy uneasily, just once. “Welcome.”

Dream returned the gesture. “No doubt you know why we’re here?”

Eret gestured vaguely, eyes alert and careful. He knew full well he was treading on dangerous ground. “This is regarding your sudden…takeover of L’Manberg and its citizens.”

“Badlands as well,” Dream told him. “Bad needed little persuading. You, on the other hand…”

“We’re on the same side here,” Eret said cautiously. “You appointed me king.”

“Yes, I did.” Dream said pleasantly. “And you’ve proved to me it means little, considering how willing you were to switch sides and fight against Manberg.” He gestured behind him. “Take off your crown. You’re no longer king of the SMP.”

Hbomb bristled, drawing his sword. Punz and Sapnap each drew their weapons in response, but Eret waved his knights down. He stood and walked down to look Dream face to face, entirely undaunted by the mask and by the four behind him. “You’re losing a valuable ally.”

“There are no more alliances,” Dream said simply. “Just as there are no more countries, no more fighting, no more war.” Eret let the crown fall to the ground, and Dream did not pick it back up. “Hbomb and Puffy are under my command now,” he told Eret. “If they want, they can resign. Pick a fight, and they can join the L’Manbergians in the vault.” 

Dream’s empty voice scared Sapnap to the bone, but he didn’t move from behind his friend. If he was honest to himself, he didn’t feel like he knew Dream at all anymore, but there was little he could do. 

“Very well,” Eret said. “And once you have the entire place under your control, what then? You think that’ll make everyone one big happy family again?”

Dream’s head tilted. “It will,” he promised. “Sometimes the only way people change is if they’re not given a choice. Either peace is maintained, or the prison does it for them.”

Eret shook his head, eyes narrowed as he gestured for Puffy—who gave Dream a sad, knowing look—and Hbomb to follow him out of the room. As he walked past Tommy, Sapnap saw him put a gentle hand on the teen’s shoulder. Tommy didn’t react, and Sapnap couldn’t see Eret’s expression, but he got the distinct feeling a lot had been said between them.

Sapnap didn’t find Dream again until the late afternoon, digging through the supplies in the community house. Tommy was nowhere to be seen, so Sapnap took that as his chance to confront his friend.

Dream looked up before Sapnap even spoke, having heard him coming. Always on edge, always on guard. “Hey, Sap.”

“Hey,” Sapnap answered. “I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Tommy?” Dream guessed. His tone was light, and just like that, he was someone Sapnap knew again.

Sapnap nodded, not too surprised as he sat down on an empty storage chest. “I—why is he helping us? What happened to him?”

Dream sighed. “Exile dealt him a bad hand,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect it to affect him so badly, or else I never would’ve pushed Tubbo into it, but…” Dream shook his head. “He almost killed himself.”

Sapnap sucked in a startled breath.  _ Fucking hell.  _ He’d always known Tommy as someone brash, reckless, outgoing—never suicidal. Never the type of person to give up, even against impossible odds.

“And the mask?”

Dream’s voice turned grim. “I took him to the festival with me.”

“Holy shit.” Sapnap hadn’t been there, but he knew the L’Manbergians had almost murdered Dream. If Tommy had been there with him… “What happened?”

“He got slashed across the face with a knife. By Tubbo, no less. He couldn’t even look at himself in a mirror after that, so I gave him one of my masks. I didn’t know what else to do.” Dream shrugged helplessly. “He’s staying with me now, away from Logstedshire and L’Manberg. Hopefully once all this is resolved, he’ll have an easier time.”

Sapnap nodded wordlessly, still reeling. God, he’d misjudged the room so badly. “I’ll keep an eye on him too,” he promised.

Dream nodded, closing one of the storage chests he’d been searching. “I’d appreciate that, yeah.”

Relief flooded Sapnap as he left, a weight lifting off his chest. The awful suspicion that Dream had done something to Tommy to make him that way had been lingering for awhile, but— 

_ Why has Bad been avoiding me? _

Maybe Sapnap was a bad friend for being suspicious, but Dream had just taken over L’Manberg, the Badlands,  _ everywhere— _ Sapnap would allow himself to be paranoid about his friend’s motives, just this once. And so he went off in search of Bad. It didn’t take long to find him, as all he had to do was approach Bad’s mansion—with the prison looming beyond—to hear his indignant shriek and Skeppy’s bubbling laughter. 

Sapnap knocked on the door before pushing it open. “Hey, lovebirds. Got a minute?”

Bad’s smile vanished far too quickly. His eyes snapped from Skeppy to Sapnap and back again before he stood up abruptly. “Hi, Sapnap.”

“A word?” Sapnap asked him uneasily. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“Yeah—yeah, okay.” 

Skeppy sighed dramatically as Bad got up to leave. “You’re going to leave me all alone here?” he whined, flopping against the floor. 

“Not for long. You can survive without me.” Bad closed the door behind him and started walking down the path, smile forced. “What do you need?”

“What’s going on with you?” Sapnap demanded. “Ever since we went to Logstedshire, you haven’t been the same.”

Bad shook his head firmly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re a shit liar.”

“No, I’m,”—was that  _ desperation  _ in his voice. “—I’m serious. Nothing’s wrong.” He picked up the pace, as if trying to leave Sapnap behind, and Sapnap grabbed his arm. 

“Hey, Bad—you know you can trust me, right? Whatever it is, I won’t spill.”

Bad stared at him sadly for a few long seconds. “You won’t believe me.” He said it like a fact, and dismay settled in Sapnap’s stomach.

“Bad, please,” he begged. “You know I trust you. It’s—” He paused. “It’s about Tommy and Logstedshire, isn’t it? It’s—it’s about Dream.”

Bad’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent.

“I know something’s up with him,” Sapnap said urgently, “But I don’t know why or if he lied. I need you to tell me what happened,  _ please.” _

Bad drew in on himself, looking around. “Then we need to go somewhere safer.”

Sapnap nodded. “That’s fine.”

After Bad went back to tell Skeppy they’d be a while, they both took off towards the wilderness. Sapnap made sure they weren’t being followed, and he couldn’t shake his uneasiness when he saw how Bad kept looking around, shoulders hunched and eyes scared.

“Why is this necessary?” Sapnap asked as soon as they were a safe distance into the forest.

Bad’s voice was barely audible. “Dream said he’d kill Skeppy if I got in his way.” 

The words took a solid five seconds to register in Sapnap’s head. When they finally did, he could do nothing but slump against a tree as a horrible, horrible dread settled heavy in his chest. 

He had no words.

“What happened?” he broke out suddenly, leaping to his feet. “What the fuck happened in Logstedshire?”

Bad looked down, breathing deeply. “A few days after we visited Tommy, I went back there. Dream wasn’t there this time, and Tommy was acting so strange I couldn’t take my mind off it. I gave him my trident, but he passed out from hunger before he even got to the water.”

Sapnap nodded.

“I asked him why he hadn’t eaten and he just brushed it off, saying it was because Dream left early without giving him anything to eat. The look on his face was so strange I just pretended not to find it odd and gave him some of my food rations. After that, I came back to Logstedshire a lot when I was sure Dream wasn’t there. But the last time I came back, Dream was there. The portal was broken, and he—he blew up Logstedshire as Tommy begged him not too. Everything he had just went up in flames.” 

Bad’s breathing came faster and faster, and Sapnap leaned forward to rest his hand on his friend’s arm. “It’s alright,” Sapnap muttered, the words empty and bitter in his mouth. “Keep going.”

“I saw Tommy and… his hand was really badly burnt. I think he had a regeneration potion, but…there were bruises on his wrists and neck, recent ones, and he looked so awful. I attacked Dream so Tommy could run, and he did, but you know me, I can’t beat Dream in a fight. I tried, but…he had me pinned down, and I thought he was going to kill me.”

Sapnap found his hand curled tightly around the hilt of his sword, and a fury he’d never felt before left him completely breathless. 

“He’d hit me really hard on the head, so I don’t remember much, but he told me he’d kill Skeppy and Antfrost if I said anything. But…” Bad hesitated. “His voice was still the same, like we were still friends. He was gentle with me, he even checked my injuries before I passed out, and when I woke up I was back home. Like nothing had happened.”

Sapnap didn’t say anything for a long time. Shock kept him perfectly still, eyes empty and heart pounding in his chest as he tried to process Bad’s story.

His first thought was— _ this isn’t possible.  _ His second:  _ Bad’s no liar. Dream is. _

_ Dream is. _

_ Dream is. _

In a sweep of fury, Sapnap drew his sword and drove it through the ground. He wanted to scream, but only a strangled gasp escaped his chest. He looked up at Bad in a silent please— _ say something to make it better. _

“Tommy’s just a kid,” Bad whispered.

“And Dream’s my best friend!” Sapnap seethed. “He’s my fucking best friend and I was too fucking stupid to see he was lying to my face!” Something dawned on him. “He has control over everything now. The L’Manbergians are locked up where he can do whatever he wants with them, Eret folded, you and the Badlands are outnumbered, Tommy’s his puppet on a string with that fucking mask of his—what are we gonna  _ do _ ?” 

“I don’t know,” Bad said simply, defeated. They sat in the silence together for a while, afternoon wind rustling through the trees. 

Eventually, Sapnap echoed, "There has to be something."

“There’s nothing.”

“Actually,” a third voice said from behind them, grim and deliberate, “There is.”

Sapnap bolted to his feet, yanking his sword out of the grass and pointing it straight at— 

“Wilbur?” Bad said in astonishment, standing up to face the ghostly figure standing within the trees. Wilbur nodded once, and Sapnap could feel a similar fury radiating from him.

“I’m uniting everyone that’s left,” Wilbur told them, a stick of dynamite in his hands. “We’re going to take down Dream, all of us. Me, Techno, Philza, Niki, Eret—even Punz confronted me about disagreeing with Dream. We’re going to capture him, rescue Tommy, and free the L’Manbergians.” He studied Sapnap carefully. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you of all people to care the way you do.”

“I might be Dream’s friend, but I’m not a psycho,” Sapnap spat. “Tommy’s a fucking kid, and Dream…” 

“Abused him, lied to him, manipulated him,” Wilbur listed off, gauging Sapnap’s reaction. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I am,” Sapnap said numbly. “But lately, I’ve had the feeling like I don’t really know him at all. I guess I was right.”

“What about George?” Bad asked anxiously. “George isn’t a bad person, he’d join us. Right?”

Sapnap’s heart sank. “Dream’s got too tight a hold on him. He’d never leave Dream’s side, and Dream won’t let him go.”

Bad shut his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands as he tried to collect himself. “Okay,” he finally said. “What do we do?”

“One way or another, you can’t go back,” Wilbur told them. “It doesn’t matter how well you think you can lie, Dream will see straight through it. So grab what you need and leave.”

“To where?” Sapnap asked. “You got a base of operations?”

Wilbur smiled, and that smile held a lot—grief and nostalgia and regret and _bloodlust_. “Of sorts. Ever been to Pogtopia?”


	20. Darker Days

**_Darker Days_ **

Philza had only been gone for an afternoon before Techno began to worry. Wilbur found him sitting at the table with his hand on the hilt of his sword, a gesture he did without thinking that usually meant he was nervous.

“Phil’s fine,” Wilbur said dismissively. “He can take care of himself.” The snowstorms had stopped yesterday, so there was little reason to worry about him getting lost. 

“He said he’d go straight to L’Manberg and back,” Techno snapped. “They tried to murder me, what if they captured Phil too?” 

Wilbur gave him a warning look, gesturing up to the attic in a silent: _don't disturb Tommy._ “Phil hasn’t done anything.”

“You think that’ll stop them?”

Wilbur shrugged. “It’s Tubbo.”

“Tubbo tried to kill me, too.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, turning away. “You destroyed his home and he still has burn scars from when you shot him with a firework. Let it go.”

Night fell.

Phil still didn't return. 

Techno set out for L’Manberg next morning, fully armored and weapons in hand. Wilbur didn’t follow; he had to stay and watch over Tommy, who was still sleeping when Techno left.

“If Dream comes back, don’t even try to confront him,” Techno had warned them. “There’s a chest full of invisibility potions, just get Tommy out of there.”

As it turned out, though, Techno didn’t have to worry about where Dream was for very long. Only minutes after he’d come through the community portal, Dream was standing on the path in front of him.

Techno talked first. “You know, Wilbur wasn’t joking when he said I’d repaid that favor of yours by not slitting your throat.”

Dream nodded, entirely undaunted by the threat. “And yet here you are, wandering around the SMP expecting me not to do anything about it.”

“I’m not here for you,” Techno growled, stalking past him.

“I know,” Dream said. “You’re here for Philza. The L’Manbergians don’t have him.”

Techno froze. “What did you do?” he demanded, drawing his sword. He should’ve seen this coming—he should’ve  _ known  _ Dream wouldn’t just have let Tommy go. 

“He’s alive,” Dream said calmly. “And he’ll remain that way, only if you give me Tommy. If you don't,”—he shrugged—“Who knows? Maybe I’ll send you a few feathers first.”

A cold, seething fury seeped into Techno’s stomach. He leveled his sword right at Dream’s mask. “How about a counter-offer? I kill you right now, and then find Phil.”

“You never will,” Dream promised, and Techno could tell he was telling the truth. “I could give you his exact coordinates, it wouldn’t matter. You can’t reach him.”

Techno’s eyes narrowed behind his mask as he considered his options, frustration curling in his chest. A trade—Tommy for Phil. Deep down, he knew which the right choice was. Dream wouldn’t kill Tommy, but he would definitely kill Phil. Wilbur would never forgive him for this, but there was no other way.

Once he had Phil back, Techno would drive a dagger through Dream’s heart as he slept if he had to. Dream had forsaken his right to an honorable fight the second he’d abused Tommy.

“Fine,” Techno snapped. “Where do we make the trade?”

Dream, of all things,  _ laughed.  _ “Oh, no. I’m not giving you a choice in this. You give me Tommy, or Philza dies. There’s nothing more to it.”

Techno’s heart sank. 

Wilbur knew something had gone wrong as soon as he saw Techno’s face, and the way his sword was dragging absent-mindedly through the snow. He got to his feet quietly, unwilling to disturb Tommy.

When Techno beckoned him outside to talk, out of Tommy’s hearing range, Wilbur braced himself for the worst.

“Dream has Phil.”

It was exactly what Wilbur dreaded. “And?”

“He wants Tommy.”

“We can’t.”

“There’s no other choice.”

Wilbur turned on him in disbelief. “How can you fucking say that?” he demanded. “Dream fucking hurt him and you want to hand Tommy over?”

“We have to!” Techno snapped, shoving his sword aside. “You know damn well Dream won’t kill Tommy.”

“Phil would never want you to make the trade.”

“It’s not a trade,” Techno said heavily, and another wave of anger stole Wilbur’s breath away. “Phil would want me not to, but he’s idealistic. Dream’s gonna slit his throat and be done with it. If I give him Tommy, then both of them can get out of this alive.”

Wilbur bit his words back, leaning heavily against the doorframe with his head down. Damn it, he knew Techno was right— 

He thought of Tommy, curled up peacefully in his bed. Of how he’d flinched away from fire, of how he braced himself after every harsh word like he expected to be hit. Of how they were earning his trust ever so carefully, about to throw it away again.

“Listen to me,” Techno said, voice low. “You can follow him. Stay invisible, and I’ll work on tracking Phil down. As soon as he’s safe, you bring me to Tommy and help me kill Dream.”

Wilbur’s hand curled into a fist before he struck the wall with all his strength, trying fruitlessly to rid himself of his anger. “I just got Tommy back,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this to me, too.”

“You have to.”

Wilbur knew he did.

Some part of him admired Techno for having the strength—and apathy—to make that decision. The rest of Wilbur hated him for it. He'd have to watch what Dream did to Tommy after that, and blame himself for everything. Most of it was Wilbur’s fault, after all. He’d made Tubbo president knowing the kid was too easily pushed around, he’d hurt Tommy first— _ Who knows?  _ Dream had told him.  _ Maybe if he wasn’t used to being hit by you, he’d have reacted the right way when I did it. _

The night Dream came, Techno was the one to drug Tommy into unconsciousness and hand him over. It was easier that way for Tommy—at least, that was the excuse for Techno and Wilbur not being able to face their younger brother. 

Wilbur followed Dream the whole way back. He watched Dream tie Tommy’s wrist down so he couldn’t escape, he watched Tommy wake up and the hurt written all over his face, he was sitting right beside Tommy when Dream came and apologized.

He wanted nothing more than to slit Dream’s thoat when Tommy hugged him back and buried his face in Dream’s shoulder.

Wilbur had to sit by and watch it in silence, invisible. He hadn’t forgotten Dream’s promise when Wilbur had lit that explosive in their first confrontation:  _ let this go off, and I’ll take days to kill him. _

When Tommy had put on the mask, Wilbur knew his brother was too far gone. When Dream captured the L’Manbergians and imprisoned them, he knew they’d already lost. That was when the desperation set in, as brutal and visceral as the days after Schlatt had won the election. 

And so, he switched plans.

Pogtopia had lay untouched for months after the war with Manberg, haunted and forgotten in the darkness of lanterns that had gone out. Wilbur descended the stairs in silent awe, running his hands over every button on the wall and lighting every lantern as he walked by. It was all cobwebs and dust and ashes now, cold stone and echoes. 

He’d lost his mind in this ravine—maybe he’d do so again, to get his brother back. It was an impossible task: one ghost against the most dangerous people he’d ever met. Incalculable odds.

Wilbur, the artist at heart, smiled. A new script could be written: one with a happier ending for his family. One where he made sure Dream didn’t die easily. He had no books, no ink and quill, but he wrote the story anyway. It was one of revolt and war, just as L'Manberg had been, and an old excitement flared up in his chest. 

The story of his started with two people: one, his best friend. The other, one of his worst enemies.

Niki and Eret were the first to join him in the remains of Pogtopia. They would not be the last.

Two days later, Wilbur had gotten himself a fighting force. Niki brought along Puffy, who brought along Connor, Eret came with HBomb, Ranboo drifted over on his own accord and the rest were absorbed in by circumstance. He’d found Sapnap and Bad torn up and uncertain, Punz came forward with the offer to spy for them, and Callahan had no words for Wilbur but a gift: Checkov’s gun, with a handwritten note:  _ Dream took this after the war. _

They were a fighting force that outnumbered Dream’s, but numbers didn’t matter against Pandora’s vault. Dream had total control over everyone inside, and he’d use that against them. If he caught wind of an organized resistance, he had plenty of hostages to kill until they surrendered. 

Wilbur wrote his script to account for that, too. 

A year ago, he’d be appalled to consider that anyone would take such drastic measures, but he wasn’t a fool. This world of theirs had fallen into its darker days a while ago—long enough for Wilbur to learn.

Techno’s search for Phil had been quick.

Dream had made no effort to conceal Phil's location, just as he’d made it clear where the L’Manbergians had been taken. Pandora’s Vault—an ironically named prison, that from days and days of scouting out, Techno determined was inescapable. Obsidian, complex redstone alarms, mining fatigue—he knew when a battle was lost. 

So he gave up on the prison, and stalked its warden instead. Dream, ever so watchful, hadn’t appreciated that very much. It had been a stretch for Techno to believe he could remain unnoticed, as he was a fighter at heart before a hunter, but he’d run out of options. 

Checkmate came with one last visit from Dream. 

Techno, now alone in his home where he’d once been with his entire family, had been expecting it for awhile. 

He walked outside ready for a fight, knowing there wouldn’t be one. Dream didn’t dance around the reason he was here whatsoever, opening with, “Drop your sword” before Techno even had the chance to make a snarky comment.

He found time for one anyway: “Happy to see you, too.” He most definitely wasn’t. 

“I’m not interested in arguing,” Dream said flatly. “Or entertaining the notion that you have anything to use against me in return. You surrender and come with me, or Philza’s dead before you can even reach the prison.”

Techno stared at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if Dream was thinking the same thing he was. They’d been equals once, before everything had gone to shit. They’d found a competition in their rivalry, always striving to outdo the other, always with  _ respect  _ for each other’s efforts. They were only the most powerful because of each other, and time ago, Techno would have called Dream a friend for it. 

As Techno dropped his sword into the snow, he knew he’d been naïve to assume Dream would always abide by the unspoken rules they’d set with each other. Techno had let him go without a fight despite what he’d done to Tommy, assuming Dream would have enough honor to accept his leniency.

Dream had used it against him instead. 

“You’ve really fallen from grace, haven’t you?” Techno said calmly as Dream bound his hands behind his back.

“Ironic, considering your predicament.” Dream picked up Techno’s sword and sheathed it to take along with him, one more sprinkle of salt in the wound. Next could very well be Techno’s mask. 

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Manipulating a sixteen year old kid, taking hostages, inciting war—all for what, something as trivial as power?”

“Control,” Dream corrected. “Two years ago, you would have seized it right along with me.” He gestured to the house. “Look at you now. You let your attachments make you vulnerable.”

Techno couldn’t refrain from lacing sarcasm in his voice. “It’s called being a good person.”

“It’s _pathetic_.” Dream pushed him forward, and Techno started trudging through the snow. 

_ We’ll see,  _ Techno thought to himself. Checkmate had come for him, but Dream had made a glaring error already. Wilbur’s alliance in Pogtopia was the consequence of it: Dream had captured Tommy at the expense of the loyalty of almost everyone left on the board. Techno had always seen it as a game between him and Dream, but that was changing: Dream was playing against Wilbur now, an opponent he didn’t know.

Techno still clung to the hope he could escape the prison and give Wilbur another piece, but that delusion was shattered as soon as Dream left him in his cell. Mining fatigue weighing him down in an obsidian box, Techno knew he was stranded. 

He was perfectly fine in the crushing silence for the first two days. The third was when he started breaking, just a little. 

Sapnap was already in the community house when Dream and Tommy approached, sitting casually on a storage chest with his weapons sheathed. Tommy saw his eyes flicker between the two of them uneasily before he smiled. “I did some reconnaissance on the rouge SMP members like you asked me to,” he told Dream.

“And?”

“There's no unified resistance. Puffy and Hbomb are staying loyal to Eret, so they could be a fighting force if they decide to rebel. None of them are particularly good fighters, but Puffy might bring Niki on board as well.”

Dream nodded thoughtfully. “Still not a threat.” He paused. “What about Wilbur?”

Sapnap hesitated. “You mean, Ghostbur?”

“I don’t.”

“I haven’t seen him.”

Tommy played with the strap of his mask as they talked, a question on his lips he was nervous to ask. Once Sapnap left, he turned to Dream. “Can I visit Tubbo?”

The question took Dream by mild surprise. “Why?”

“I want to talk to him.”

Dream hesitated. “Tommy, I…I don’t want you to talk with any of the L’Manbergians.”

Tommy drew back. “What? Why?”

“Because they’ll lie to you,” Dream told him. “They’ll try everything they can to turn you against me, and neither of us wants that to happen.”

Tommy nodded, fighting to push down the dismay settling in his stomach. He missed Tubbo so badly—surely there was no harm in talking to him, right? 

Dream saw his hesitation and put a hand on his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t visit them without telling me first.”

“I promise,” Tommy said, words bitter in his mouth. 

That night, he tried to break that promise. 

His mask made it easy to hide his nervousness as he entered the prison lobby, walking right up to Sam’s desk. “I’m here to see Tubbo.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. 

“Dream knows I’m here,” Tommy assured him.

“Does he?” Sam said flatly. “Dream planned no visits for today.”

“It’s last minute,” Tommy said cheerfully.

“Nonetheless, I’m going to have to check with him.”

_ Shit.  _

Tommy shook his head insistently, backing towards the portal as his heart raced. “That’s not necessary.”

Sam’s hand closed around his arm before he could take another step. “It is.”

Tommy tried to tug his arm from Sam’s grip, but Sam was holding him too tightly. His heart sank as Sam tugged him back to the desk and a flick of a lever later, the portal retracted into the wall and his only way out was gone.

Tommy stared at it with wide eyes, breathing coming faster. “Please don’t tell Dream,” he begged. “He’ll get mad.”

Sam said nothing.

The silence grew suffocating as they waited, even when Sam left for another part of the prison. Dread crawling up Tommy’s throat, he sat against the ground behind the desk, trying to make himself smaller as if he could vanish from view.

When Sam came back and pulled the lever down again, hope flared across Tommy’s chest. He thought, for a few seconds, that Sam had changed his mind.

Until, of course, Dream stepped through the portal.

Sam and Dream exchanged few words, and Tommy stayed silent as Dream took his arm and brought him back through the portal.

Tommy couldn’t see his face with the mask, so the entire way back to Dream’s base was in uncertain silence. Only once they were there did Dream turn to him. “Give me your mask.”

Tommy drew back, head ducked as he clung to the strap of his mask. “Please don’t—” he pleaded. 

“Tommy.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered. “I shouldn’t have lied, I’m sorry—” 

“You always say that, and you never learn,” Dream said gently. “Give me the mask.”

Tommy didn’t move.

Dream sighed, reaching forward to pull Tommy’s mask off. Tommy darted back before he could, refusing to give in. O ne quick motion, and Dream had Tommy’s arms pinned to his chest as he undid the strap of Tommy’s mask. Tommy barely managed to snag it as it fell, hugging it close to him.

“Give it to me.”

Tommy closed his eyes and braced himself.

Dream shook his head in disappointment. 

Two clean strikes across the face, one in the back of the head to knock him down, a kick to the side—Tommy took it all silently, clutching his mask with his jaw clenched to avoid crying out. After a pause, he tried to sit up, only for Dream to drive his foot down on his chest to keep him pinned to the floor. 

“What is wrong with you?” Dream demanded, fingers curled around Tommy’s arm hard enough to bruise. “I’ve done everything for you and yet you lie to me, you lie to Sam—what is it going to take to get you to change?”

“I miss Tubbo,” Tommy whispered.

“Tubbo exiled you. He abandoned you, everyone did. You’re lucky I’m kind enough not to do the same.” 

When Tommy said nothing, Dream shook his head. “I should drown you again,” he muttered. “Don’t you think you deserve it?”

However much he didn’t want to, Tommy nodded. 

Dream didn’t drown him in the end, but he might as well had. By the end of the night, he'd beaten Tommy so badly he couldn’t breathe. By the time Dream was done, Tommy had lost all ability to speak or even move, dull pain stealing away every breath he tried to take. 

Dream had to carry him to his room, and did so gently so Tommy didn’t cry out when he was jostled. A regeneration potion later and Tommy was left on his own in the dark, staring up at the ceiling.

He drifted in and out of consciousness through the night, dreams filled with the gentle melody of his brother’s guitar. He missed Tubbo so badly he couldn’t sleep, but Tubbo was gone, trapped in the confines of an obsidian prison where Tommy couldn’t reach him.

He blacked out still hugging his mask to his chest, wishing he was somewhere else.

Wilbur set his guitar down as soon as Tommy had fallen asleep, skin glowing blue with tears. He tried to brush Tommy’s hair out of his eyes, only for his fingers to pass right through him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, but Tommy didn’t stir.

Punz sat alone in the community house in the middle of the night, sheltered from the bitter wind as he waited for Dream. It was unlike Dream to be late, but Punz had a job and he did it without complaining.

Ten minutes later, Dream arrived, armor and weapons with him as always. There was blood on his hand, Punz noted, but he couldn’t care less.

“Wilbur accepted your offer?” Dream said shortly, never one to waste time with unnecessary conversation. They had that in common, the two of them. 

Punz nodded. “He bought it, yes. He hasn’t told me where they’re based, but I know most of the members he’s gathered.”

“Tell me.”

“Eret and his knights, Niki, Connor, Sapnap—”

“Sapnap?” Dream said in disbelief, cutting him off before he could continue.

“He’s not spying for you?”

“No, he isn’t.”

Punz nodded, entirely apathetic. “Callahan and Bad as well.”

Dream waved his hand dismissively. “They’re to be expected. Sapnap, however…”

“Do you want me to deal with him?”

Dream shook his head, eyes narrowed. “No. I’ll take care of him.” 

“He’s dangerous,” Punz warned. “I wouldn’t assume him incapable of killing you.”

“Me, perhaps.” Dream smiled. “Not Tommy. Maybe it’s time I put him to good use.”

Anyone else might have been uneasy to hear Dream using a kid for his own ends, but Punz didn’t care. Maybe that was why Dream preferred working with him: after almost a year of working with Sapnap and Bad, Punz felt nothing from their betrayal.

War was war, after all. What happened to Sapnap and Tommy was out of his hands. 


	21. Prices Paid in Blood

**_Prices Paid in Blood_ **

The voices were louder in the dark. 

Techno sat perfectly still on the cold, lifeless obsidian floor, eyes closed, back straight, and hands in his lap. He wasn’t scared of losing control here, not locked in a box with nothing to break and no one to hurt. In fact, after the first day, he started appreciating the noise in his head; the silence was almost as bad as the hunger, and the constant distraction was the best relief he could ask for.

The second day nothing happened, Techno started wondering if he’d get food. The water basin automatically emptied and refilled itself every few hours, but nobody had come by to give him something to eat.  The hunger pangs hurt, but Techno was accustomed to the pain after a short while. He’d gotten used to worse.

The third day, he finally admitted to himself that he wasn’t getting food. He didn’t think Dream had put him in here for the sole purpose of killing him this way, so why wasn’t he dying?

He thought about it for several hours.

_ Regeneration beacons. _

Techno’s eyes narrowed. He undid the strap of his mask and used the sharp edge of the boar’s tooth to cut a slit through the back of his leg. Sure enough, the cut faded away after just a few minutes, leaving nothing but a bit of smeared blood. 

Techno grimaced to himself—partly because he knew the next few weeks wouldn’t be pleasant, but mostly because he feared Phil and the L’Manbergians would be put through the same. Sure, he didn’t hold much respect for them, but picturing a kid like Tubbo starved this way made his blood curl.

After the first week in his cell, Techno had already worked through the slow, methodical way he’d kill Dream for what he’d done. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he had a chance of carrying it out, but it calmed the voices.

_ You’re a dead man, Dream. _

“I have a job for you, Tommy.” Dream’s voice held no trace of the anger or disappointment from the previous day, and Tommy perked up.

“What is it?”

“Sapnap betrayed us.”

Tommy drew back, surprised. “What?”

Dream nodded grimly. “Punz is working for me as a spy, and he told me Sapnap joined Bad and Callahan helping Wilbur’s alliance. I need you to capture him—alive—by tomorrow night. He doesn’t think I know, which should make it easier for you.”

Tommy nodded eagerly. “I’ll do it.”

And he did. Tracking Sapnap the entire day was no easy task, as Sapnap always stuck with at least one other person, but Tommy was nothing but methodical. He could take on Sapnap, but not if he wasn’t alone, and he knew not to take unnecessary risks. So when the sun set and he'd found no good opportunities, he didn't rush to extremes. He could wait until the next day. 

Besides, Tommy had other things on his mind.

Like Tubbo.

He still had bruises on his arms that potions hadn’t quite dealt with, but he went back to the prison anyway. He didn’t even try lying this time: Sam’s surprised, “Why are you here?” was met with a simple: “I need to talk to Tubbo.”

“You know I have to call Dream.”

Tommy didn’t move.

Sam sighed, leaving his desk to pull Tommy away from the portal. A hiss of pain escaped Tommy’s clenched teeth when Sam grabbed his arm where it was bruised, and Sam’s eyes narrowed.

Tommy tried to look away as Sam pulled Tommy’s mask on his face, knowing the bruises on his face probably hadn’t faded. Sam connected the dots anyway; Tommy could tell by the barely-hidden shock that flickered across his face for a brief moment.

“What happened to you?”

Tommy looked down, voice almost imperceptible. “Dream was mad I lied.” Sam let go of his arm, and Tommy whispered, “Please don’t call him.”

The silence stretched for a few moments. “Okay,” Sam said gently. “I still can’t let you in, but I won’t call Dream.”

Tommy nodded. He didn’t leave the prison lobby until late at night, when Sam had to leave as well, but Sam didn’t mind his presence. There were a few spare seats behind the desk, and Tommy took Sam’s offer of one gladly.

The next day, he found his opportunity to capture Sapnap. Bad had left his side to check on Skeppy, which gave Tommy the perfect opportunity.

The community house was deserted, and it was a quick fight. Tommy walked in unassumingly, weapons sheathed, and Sapnap merely nodded. Oblivious to the weakness potion hidden behind Tommy's back—until, of course, he threw it—Sapnap barely had time to look surprised before Tommy rammed the hilt of his sword against his head and he collapsed. 

The hardest part was dragging him all the way to the prison. Sam helped him most of the way, as he’d expected the new prisoner, but Tommy was out of breath by the time Sapnap was securely locked in one of the cells.

Dream’s proud smile upon learning of the successful capture was worth it, anyway. Thankfully, Tommy wasn’t there for what came next. 

The first meeting in the depths of the Pogtopia ravine was a somber affair. Not only had Sapnap failed to show up, but what scouting Wilbur had done on the prison left him with nothing promising.

Altogether, there were eleven of them: Wilbur, Niki, Eret, Puffy, Ranboo, Bad, Skeppy, Ponk, Ant, Callahan, and Connor. Not one of them had the skills or knowledge to break into the prison.  Here they all were, though, armed and ready to try. By the shared shock, horror, grief written across the faces Wilbur saw, he knew they had the same goal.

Things had gone too far.

“Here’s how it is,” Wilbur told them as they gathered. Callahan sat atop the stairs as the rest circled around Wilbur, who was looking over the plans Techno had drawn of the prison’s security. “As long as the L’Manbergians and Techno are in there, we’ve already lost. Dream’s already threatened Skeppy’s life; he’ll kill the L'Manbergians if we don’t concede. So our first plan of action is breaking them out.”

Eret looked over the map, eyes glowing in the darkness of the ravine even from behind his sunglasses. “There’s no way in.”

“No, there isn’t,” Wilbur agreed. “But when you can’t break into a prison, you kidnap its warden. Sapnap and Punz are in charge of passing along information we could use to capture Sam, as well as get him to take us into the prison itself. Our primary target is Techno: he’s the only one that can stand against Dream in a fight.”

No one questioned the decision, even if it could be argued that the three L’Manbergians might be useful. There was just something about Dream and Techno that suggested they could take everyone down single-handedly if they set their mind to it, and Wilbur didn’t like their odds without Techno.

“Here’s an idea,” Ponk said snarkily. “Screw making a complicated plan. Just jump Dream, stab him, and get it over with. Who’s gonna take over after that,  _ George _ ?” Connor snickered, but no one else was smiling.

“The L’Manbergians tried that,” Wilbur said sharply. “They ended up in an obsidian box. If you want to follow in their footsteps on your own, be my guest.”

No reply, just as expected.

“Meanwhile, the rest of you do reconnaissance of your own. Find out what you can about the prison and Dream’s plan, and gear up for war. This shouldn’t come down to a fight, but odds are something will go wrong.”

A few grim looks, muttered good lucks, and Wilbur was alone in the ravine once more.

_ Just hang in there, Tommy. _

George didn’t know what he was supposed to feel as he followed Dream through the prison, taking note of the security measures with wary eyes. The dark blackstone and obsidian walls were terrifyingly ominous, and George couldn’t help but see Dream looked far too fitting among it. 

_ What is he going to say?  _ George thought to himself, heart hurting as he thought of Sapnap. Their best friend, the one person other than Dream George trusted—he’d turned on them.

_ Can you really say you don’t understand why?  _ A voice in his head chided, but George ignored it. 

He didn’t want to think about the possibility Dream was in the wrong, because George would never be able to leave. Not only would he hurt Dream more than Sapnap had, but he didn’t have anywhere to go.

_ Dream needs me,  _ George liked telling himself, even if the truth was that George needed  _ him.  _ So even if the thought of Sapnap locked up appalled him, he followed Dream wordlessly anyway, surrendering his armor and weapons as instructed. Dream got to keep his, and George felt a little bit slighted, but one roll of Dream’s eyes at his grumpy look and he felt childish for it. 

Sam led them deeper into the prison, down more locked vault doors and security checks. “Sapnap hasn’t responded well to imprisonment,” he told Dream flatly. “I’ve had to tie him up to stop him from breaking the ceiling lights and attacking me whenever I come to give him food and water.”

“That’s fine,” Dream said carelessly. They stopped at Sapnap’s cell, and he gestured at Sam to leave before they entered. 

George’s heart skipped a beat as Sapnap looked up at them, a scoff escaping him. He was bound by his wrists to the wall, small cuts splitting the skin of his legs from the glass shards still littered on the floor. The only light came from a torch attached to the wall, shadows flickering across Sapnap’s face as he met George’s gaze.

“Well, well,” Sapnap sneered. “Finally come to pay your best friend hello?”

“Sapnap,” Dream warned. 

“Fuck off,” Sapnap spat. “You and your little puppets can rot in hell for all I care.”

George shrunk back, hurt flickering across his face. “Sapnap, you were my best friend! You betrayed us and now all you can say is—”

“Betrayed you?” Sapnap exclaimed, pulling against the bindings around his wrist as he leaned forward. “Dream’s a psycho, George! You know damn well what he did to Tommy and you’re still following him around like a loyal pet, doing whatever he asks—”

“Sapnap,” Dream repeated, voice harsher. 

“Fuck you.” Sapnap shook his head. “If you’re here for information, you ain’t getting it.”

“So you know where they’re based?” Dream said idly, stepping forward as George retreated to the door. “You know who’s joined them, who’s leading, who’s doing what…”

Sapnap smiled and said nothing.

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me.”

Still a mocking smile, still silence.

“You know I’m going to do whatever I have to.” Dream said calmly, and George didn’t like the tone of his voice at all. Sapnap heard it as well, face twisting into a challenging, almost sad smile. “Go on, then. Prove me right.”

“You’re really ready to give up everything for them, aren’t you?” Dream said sadly, shaking his head. “You’re in here for however long I decide, and this is what you’re risking?”

“I won’t be here long,” Sapnap spat. “And I don’t give a shit what this place is made of, I don't give a shit how long it takes, I’m gonna burn it to fucking cinders.”

Something in Dream’s stance changed—his hands clenched, head tilting to the side as he stepped forward. George watched him with mounting uneasiness as Dream pried the torch off the wall and held it right by Sapnap’s face. “What do you think is going to break first?” Dream muttered, pulling off his mask and dropping it to the ground beside him. “The prison, or you?”

Sapnap’s eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate. Even if his hands were bound, he tried to bring his foot down on Dream’s mask with every intent to break it into pieces. Dream was faster, kicking Sapnap’s leg away and shoving the mask backward and out of his reach.

George, forgotten in the background, picked it up silently. He traced a finger over the empty smile, numb with uncertainty as Sapnap flinched away from the torch right by his face.

“Last chance, Sapnap. Just tell me where they are.”

Sapnap shut his eyes, breathing heavily, and said, “Go to hell.”

Dream sighed. He lowered the torch, and relief flooded George as he realized,  _ Dream isn’t actually going to hurt him. It was just to intimidate him, just to scare him— _

The hope that they’d all look back on this laughing one day was dispelled so violently it rooted George to the spot. He didn’t see Dream press the torch against Sapnap’s side until a choked, agonized gasp slipped out of his friend’s mouth, and the first scream that echoed across the room sent George fleeing out of the cell. 

Sam saw the look on his face as he came down the corridor and didn’t protest as George requested with a shaking voice to be let out of the prison. George barely put his armor back on before walking aimlessly back to his house, dazed and breathing too loud in his own ears.

He locked the door behind him, hands shaking as he sat against it and tried to think of anything  _ but  _ what he’d just seen. Bag dumped carelessly on the ground, hands clamped over his ears, he sat there for almost an hour, trying not to cry.

He knew he should go outside, he should do something other than sit and wallow in his stupid self-pity until it drove him crazy. But he couldn’t—the thought of facing anyone, especially Dream, was enough to send him spiraling into a dizzying panic.

_ Stay home. Stay safe. _

Safe from what? He wasn’t in danger, far from it. So why did his heart race when he thought of Dream finding him, why did his hands go numb and tremble?

George knew why.

He was scared of Dream. He was scared of his best friend. 

A lot of memories came to him as he sat there: the three of them fooling around while building the community house, George and Sapnap shooting each other with blunt tipped arrows as Dream laughed and they hollered at each other, playing manhunt and making stupid bets and Sapnap smiling and Sapnap hugging him and Sapnap bound to the wall in that cell— 

George barely managed to stumble outside before throwing up, hands trembling as he sat on the grass and tried to collect himself. He couldn’t think without hearing Sapnap screaming, seeing the look on his face as he’d stared George down from where he was tied— 

Shell-shocked as he was, George didn’t hear footsteps until Dream hugged him gently from behind, leaning his head against George’s shoulder. George froze completely, heart still as he tried to process it.

_ Dream did this, Dream tortured Sapnap, Dream— _

“I’m sorry,” Dream muttered, quietly stroking his fingers through George’s hair. “I did what I had to do. You understand that, right?”

George could still see Sapnap’s pleading look, but he found comfort in Dream’s touch anyway. Despite himself, he relaxed, letting Dream pull him to his feet and bring him back home. When Dream took him inside and forced him to sit down on the living room couch, George mumbled, “I’m fine.”

“I can tell by the look on your face, you’re definitely not.” Dream smiled sadly, undoing the straps of George’s armor carefully. “Just rest on this, okay? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

_ I haven’t, not really.  _ Not since George had seen Tommy with the mask and bruises on his arms and come to the only conclusion he could. Not since Bad, the kindest person George knew, had turned against them too.

Dream pulled him closer so George could curl up against him and close his eyes. Silent and warm as the room was, he found it too easy to give in and let Dream stroke his hand down his face, sighing in relief. Dream wanted him to sleep, and so he did— letting himself be lulled into unconsciousness was easier than staying awake and facing what had happened, even if George hated himself for it.

_ Coward. _

_ Coward. _

_ Coward—  _

He could still hear Sapnap screaming.

  
  


Sam had always found himself to be an apathetic person when he wanted, but he found his limit fast enough.

Dream had come to him to build the prison with honest-sounding intentions, and so Sam had complied, taking his payment and completing the prison without a single hitch. He couldn’t disagree with its first three occupants; after all they’d tried to kill Dream, and retaliation came with justice.  Techno and Philza, he’d doubted a little. As anarchists, though, they could be overlooked.

Tommy showing up for the second day with bruises on his face and arms could not—nor could Dream’s interrogation of Sapnap. Those two events had snapped Sam into a harsher reality, a more honest one: he’d built a weapon for the worst person to have it, and everyone he knew was suffering for it.

Finding Wilbur and Eret was the easiest part. Dropping his weapons, putting his hands behind his head, and saying, “I want to help” knowing they might kill him, was not.

He’d expected anger, hostility; instead, Wilbur only smiled. Another chess piece had been surrendered, and the script was getting simpler by the day. 

“Check,” the ghost muttered under his breath, turning his gaze towards the direction of the prison with a promise in his eyes Sam didn’t understand.

It didn’t matter. Sam would fix his mistakes, one way or another. 


	22. The Final Night

_**The Final Night** _

Wilbur stared down at the Pogtopian alliance fully equipped with armor and pissed-off looks, glaring at Sam. The warden, who was standing reluctantly behind Wilbur, kept his head bowed and weapons sheathed. All of them were there, even Punz, who had reported in dismay that Dream had locked Sapnap up in Pandora’s vault along with the L’Manbergians. “I don’t think Sapnap’s told him anything, but he’s out of reach now.”

_ Pandora’s vault,  _ Wilbur thought. Quite a misnomer from Dream’s perspective, considering the reference, but it suited Wilbur’s script so far.  _ Only the evil is let out,  _ he thought to himself.  _ I think it’s time we released Hope. _

Little did the others know, Hope wasn’t any of the prisoners they were after. But if everything went according to Sam’s plan, they’d have it by the end of the night. 

“The plan’s changed,” Wilbur said cheekily as he addressed the grim-looking Pogtopian alliance. They’d worked together well to gather gear—all of them stood there with armor and weapons, potions and golden apples—a threatening force, even if most of them weren’t warriors at heart. “I’ve called Punz back—there’s no need to capture Sam anymore. He surrendered himself willingly.”

Sam looked up sharply. “You were going to capture me?”

“Of course,” Punz cut in, smiling from where he stood by Wilbur’s side. “We’re not delusional enough to think we could get through that prison without you.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “I can understand that.” He turned to Wilbur. “What’s the plan?”

They knew the plan, the two of them, but the others would get a different script. “There’s not much to it,” Wilbur started, stepping forward. “At exactly two in the morning, we gather by the prison hub. If you see Dream or any of his allies along the way, head back home. The one crucial thing is not to let them know we’re in the prison.”

Sam nodded. “Once all of you have made it through the portal and into the prison, we should be safe. Dream has a guard key, but I can lock him out once we’re inside. We release the L’Manbergians, Philza, and Sapnap first, as it’s on the way, and then Techno last.”

“Once we have them, we stick together,” Wilbur continued. “We can’t lose a single person to Dream, or he’ll use them against us. We come back here, recuperate, and then it’s hunting time.”

Unkind smiles split a few faces with those words, but most remained quiet. “Is that all?” Punz asked.

Wilbur shook his head. “No. That’s the main plan; here’s what we do for each thing that goes wrong.”

An hour later, they were finally set to go. They all left in staggered intervals, going separate ways, keeping heads down as they trekked through the forest back to the Greater SMP. Clocks would be watched closely that night as time ticked down, weapons would be kept close, doors would be locked. They all knew what was at stake.

_ Lose one, lose the rest.  _

Wilbur knew their critical disadvantage lay in their morals—they would surrender to save a life, and Dream knew it all too well. They’d lost Techno and the L’Manbergians that way, and Wilbur would not make the same mistake. 

It was too beautiful a night for such a grim atmosphere: stars sparkled in a cloudless sky, half-moon glowing bright as Wilbur made his way to the prison entrance. Invisible, he was free to watch as Sam stood guard, opening the portal for everyone that came through. And everyone did: not a single person chickened out and stayed behind. Even Punz, Ant, and Bad, who were Dream’s friends, came along without hesitation.

Even among the rustling of armor and footsteps, the prison’s looming blackstone walls seemed to suck all the sound out of the air. Sam led them all through the vault’s defenses, bypassing equipment checks and leading them through door after door until they reached a dark, heavy iron vault. 

Wilbur could see the uneasiness written across their faces. The further they were led into the prison, the less it seemed like they were breaking in and the more it felt like they were slowly being buried beneath layers and layers of blackstone and obsidian. 

Sam pressed the button to unlock the vault, and the heavy iron door started creeping up inch by inch. It was a fascinating piece of machinery, but Wilbur cared less about how it worked than how it could be used against them. 

“The main cells are just beyond,” Sam said grimly, head down and voice unsteady. “I...I’d go check on Sapnap first.”

“What?” Bad exclaimed. “What happened?”

No answer, and Bad’s voice grew panicked. “What happened? What did Dream do?” He ducked under the vault door before it was fully open, and the rest followed him through.

None of them knew which cell was which among the identical row of locked doors, but Sam led them to the right one. Bad rushed in as soon as he unlocked it, and Wilbur heard a pained gasp escape his throat.

Sapnap was bound to the wall by his wrists, almost dazed and unconscious. Half-healed burn scars ran up and down his side, coloring his ruined skin a dark, ugly pink. From the look of some, they hadn’t been inflicted all at once. The wounds were horrifying to look at, and  Bad was already crying by the time Sapnap looked up at him. “Bad?” he mumbled incoherently. 

“You’re going to be okay,” Bad promised, digging a healing potion out of his bag. Sapnap shook his head, voice stronger than Wilbur had expected. “I’m alright. Sam already gave me some yesterday.” He looked over the group of them, and a half-laugh, half-cough escaped his mouth as Sam undid his bindings. “An entire rescue party, huh?”

Bad nodded, looking like he wanted to hug Sapnap but too afraid of hurting him. “Yeah. We’re getting everyone out, and....we’re ending this.”

“Did Dream do this to you?” Puffy asked, face twisted in grief.

Sapnap nodded as he draped his arm over Bad’s shoulder, letting his friend take his weight so he could stagger out of the cell. “He wanted to know where you guys were. I didn’t tell him.” He grinned, and there was the barest hint of insanity there. "Rightly pissed him off, too."

“Dream's a psycho,” Eret muttered, and Niki looked down at her feet like she was trying not to cry. Wilbur found it strange, almost discordant, to see her wearing armor—it was hard to see someone so kind holding a sword looking like she had every intention of using it. He almost put his hand on her shoulder out of habit, forgetting he couldn’t anymore.

“We’ll fuck Dream up for you,” she promised, and uneasy laughter rippled across the group at the violence in her tone.

Sam nodded. “I’ll bring you to the L’Manbergians next.”

Tubbo was sitting on his cot when the door opened, in a much better state than Sapnap had been. He was in fighting shape, at least, but Wilbur didn’t like the idea of gearing up another child for war. 

Tubbo looked up at Wilbur warily, stepping back skittishly when he stepped forward.

“Come on,” Wilbur encouraged him. “We’re getting everyone out.”

“What about Dream?” Tubbo asked anxiously. “Did you…”

“We’ll deal with him as soon as everyone gets out. Let’s go.”

Tubbo didn’t budge from the corner of his cell, eyes wide and afraid. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Tubbo shut his eyes tightly, slumping down on his bed. “Dream said...Dream said he’d kill Tommy if I did anything.”

Wilbur exhaled softly, sitting beside him as Sam left to free the rest of the L’Manbergians. “Tubbo, do you trust me?”

He only got a shrug.

“I’ve already planned how all this is going to go down,” Wilbur promised, voice dead serious. “Dream’s out of allies—he can’t afford to go through with that threat, it’ll cost him everything.”

Tubbo hesitated for a long while before standing up. “Okay.” He followed Wilbur out, pausing before asking: “Do you—do you know what’s wrong with Tommy?”

“Yeah,” Wilbur said darkly. “I’m going to get him back, I promise.” 

He hadn’t even approached Quackity’s cell before he heard the L’Manbergian yelling in anger. Considering he was already holding a spare sword and looked dangerously close to using it, it was anger directed at Dream. Fundy was more reserved, and Philza, wings clamped and a deadly look in his eye, said nothing.

“We have one more,” Wilbur said, voice commanding enough to bring everyone back into silence. “Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy—I understand you have your reservations about Techno, but our chances of taking down Dream without him are slimmer than I’d like.”

“You’re asking  _ them  _ if they have reservations?” Phil asked softly, wings flaring. “They tried to execute him.”

“He destroyed our entire country,” Quackity spat. “But fine. We’ll deal with our problems once the green bastard’s dead.”

“Techno’s in solitary confinement,” Sam said. “I can’t bring everyone there, only a few.”

Wilbur nodded. “Bad, Skeppy, Ant—” He was about to say Punz before he noticed that the man was gone. He’d never got into the vault with them, and the iron door was closed now. “—Callahan, Connor, Eret. you stay here with Sapnap and the L’Manbergians. The rest come with me.” 

Wilbur wasn’t overly concerned about their safety, as the vault door sealed them inside and only Sam could open it, but he kept the strongest fighters with the prisoners anyway. Sapnap was in no fighting shape and the rest looked fatigued by hunger and the damage that came with being cooped up in a box for so long, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

_ You know we’ll lose a fight anyway.  _ Numbers did little when there were hostages to be taken, and without Techno, Dream could take them all down anyway.

Sam led them through more security measures, skirting around some by leading them through the guard route. Soon, they were standing on the other side of a chasm disrupted by a steady stream of lava. A button later, and the lava trickled down, revealing an unbroken box of obsidian on the other side.

“Two people can go across the platform.”

“Phil and I will go," Wilbur said without hesitation.

They waited by the platform as Phil turned to face Wilbur for the first time since he’d been imprisoned, face gaunt. “You gave up Tommy to Dream?” he asked, voice quiet.

“We didn’t have a choice.”

“Goddamn it, Wil,” Phil pleaded, voice pained. “You know I wouldn’t want you to do it.”

Anger flared up in Wilbur’s chest. “I know damn well what you wanted—and you’d be dead if I hadn't given in to Dream. I can still save Tommy now, and I fucking swear I will.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Sam turned to them. “Onto the platform.”

Phil tucked his wings in as the redstone mechanisms went off, and the rigid metal screeches cut their conversation short.

As soon as they got to the blank obsidian wall on the other side, Phil pulled the lever at his feet. The wall retracted inward, and Wilbur slipped into the cell first.

His heart skipped a beat as he found his brother curled up on the floor, unmoving. Behind him, he heard Phil’s breath catch. “Oh my god.”

Not long ago, Techno had been big enough to be physically imposing—now he was barely more than a skeleton, thinner than Wilbur and his skin gaunt and hollow. His boar’s mask was discarded and the talons stained with blood, and when Phil turned Techno face-up, there were gashes along his face like he had used the mask to slash himself.

“What did Dream do?” Phil cried out, wings flaring out in anger as his voice rose. “What did he do?”

Techno stirred, eyes opening slightly. “Phil?”

“I’m here.”

Techno raised his hand to brush his hair out of his face. “About time.” His voice was casual, almost bored—maybe a little quiet, but other than that, he sounded fine. When Phil picked him up, he growled in protest. “I can walk.”

“You most definitely can’t.”

Techno rolled his eyes.

Quietly horrified, Wilbur followed them back to the platform, unable to look away from Techno's almost skeletal figure. Perhaps he’d underestimated Dream’s ruthlessness, even if he’d accounted for it, and he realized that Techno wouldn’t be in any shape to fight for a  _ long  _ time.

Similar gasps of shock greeted them when they made their way back to the others. Even Quackity let out a “holy  _ shit _ ” when he saw Techno, and the rest were speechless.

“God, how often did they feed you?” Tubbo asked.

Techno sniffed. “They didn’t.”

Accusing glares were immediately turned Sam’s way. “Regeneration beacons kept him alive,” Sam said flatly. “There are automatic food dispensers set up, but Dream must have emptied them.”

“Well that’s one less person in fighting shape,” Eret noted.

“Which is why we have to get back to Pogtopia as soon as we can,” Wilbur said carefully. He gestured to the iron vault. “Let’s go.”

Sam nodded and pulled the lever down as Eret did a head count. “Do we have everyone?” A pause, and he finally noticed what Wilbur had seen a while ago. “Where’s Punz?” 

“Right here,” Punz said from across the opened vault door. Niki’s eyes went wide as she pointed behind Eret, and Eret spun around. 

“Well, well, isn’t this ironic?” Dream said in cold amusement, stepping forward as Eret drew his sword. “Finally, the traitor gets betrayed.”

Dream, Punz, George, and Tommy stood on the other side of the vault door, weapons drawn and empty potion bottles discarded. The Pogtopians surged forward to protect the weaponless prisoners, facing Dream and his allies in an unbroken line. 

Wilbur, armorless and weaponless, faced Dream with empty eyes and a knowing voice. He wanted to let his contempt show, but he had a script to follow.

He stared at Punz in betrayal. “You gave us up.”

Dream nodded, just once. “He did.”

“I thought you said you’d lock the prison behind us!” Niki hissed to Sam.

“I did say that,” Sam said, and there was nothing in his voice that revealed any guilt or uncertainty. Dream tilted his head, and Sam stepped forward to stand by Dream’s side. _Traitor._

Wilbur and Dream both studied each other with the same, calculated look, and they both came to the same conclusion: the Pogtopians wouldn’t win this fight. Not with Techno out of commission, not with Sapnap and Tubbo vulnerable. Even if they did subdue Dream and his allies, they were trapped within the prison, unable to escape.

Wilbur could see it in Dream’s stance, in the way he held his sword loosely in his hand:  _ checkmate. _

Tubbo looked pleadingly at Tommy, whose face was unreadable behind his mask, just as Sapnap glared at George and Puffy smiled sadly at Dream. 

“I’ll make you all an offer,” Dream said calmly, looking at each and every one of them. “Drop your weapons and surrender now, and I promise to keep you alive. If not, then,” —he shrugged— “No promises.”

Silence met his words.

Niki stepped forward first, eyes narrowed and sword drawn. “Go to hell,” she hissed, and murmurs of agreement echoed from behind her. The Pogtopians stepped forward together, undaunted by Dream’s threat. Swords were raised, potions splashed, and a battle cry echoed across the prison’s dead blackstone walls.

Nobody would hear the yelling and clanging of metal sealed within the prison walls—it would be a battle fought buried from the sky by layers of blackstone and unforgiving obsidian. 

A battle, Wilbur knew, that would determine whether they escaped their darker days or died trying. 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:
> 
> Hey guys! As I promised, I've started a discord server to talk about Darker Days and the Dream SMP in general!
> 
> Don't worry, I'll still be posting as regularly as before. But I might discuss some of my thought processes and writing advice on discord, as well as pre-release a few chapters. We also have an SMP, and I have plans to write an ARG as well. 
> 
> Here's the link: https://discord.gg/HfHpzkhEjW 
> 
> I'd love to see you there!
> 
> -Amber


End file.
